Out of the Frying Pan...

Specifically, out of the frying pan that was San Jose over the last week, and back home to our moist, green region of the globe. We even had rain over the weekend - huzzah! Now the sun is shining, temps are back down in the 70s and 80s, there's a cool offshore breeze, and there are are guys hanging drywall in my house!

I returned to face a bazillion demands, from the pleasant (Ordinary Angels production meeting) to the less so (sending my new hard drive to a data recovery company in CA). Just trying to get caught up with paying bills, keeping the kids fed and getting my house and financial records sorted out.

I snagged Monkey Forge as the name of my film production co. While somewhat silly at first, there are good reasons behind it:

1. We are all monkeys.
2. The reference to a certain number of monkeys with a certain number of typewriters will eventually give you the collected works of William Shakespeare... or something.
3. I was born in 1968, Year of the Monkey in the Chinese zodiac.
4. In Chinese astrology, monkey people are clever, skillful, flexible, remarkably inventive and original.
5. The forge is the source of creation for that which is functional as well as that which is beautiful.

Thus, MONKEY FORGE it is. Steve Hartley is already designing a logo graphic, and I will do the text design.

We had a great weekend hosting my friend JS and his wife who are seeking refuge from the blast furnace of Phoenix AZ. I think they liked our trees. And water. And blue sky. And rain. And food. And culture. Plus, the UW has a good cardio center, so he will be close to a facility that can handle his issues. I look forward to seeing them again (in less than 20 years this time)!

Now to get my hard drives ghosted so I can reinstall everything on my work computer and get back to WORK. Because laying out a playbill on my email laptop is like a trip to the DMV... it takes forever and is annoying as hell.

Stay tuned.

Surreal Reunions R Us

I know it's been almost a week - but holy crap.

Where were we?

Friday, 7/21: Got on the flight to San Jose. I was the only one the security guy made take his shoes off. I just think he wanted to see my dead-sexy athletic socks. The flight was uneventful, just the way I like air travel. San Jose airport is still a slum, which is interesting given the gentrification happening all over the Bay Area. When my stepmom bought her little house in Palo Alto back in the '70s, it was a sleepy little college 'burb, not so very affluent. That happened with the rise of Silicon Valley tech culture (and money). Now it's just freaky.

The Varsity theater on University Ave is now a (gulp) Borders. I saw Stop Making Sense there, once upon a time. People danced in the aisles. I saw Das Boot there in its first run (as well as a host of foreign and art house movies over the years). While working on the play Veronica's Room with Sam, I went down to the theater on a break and watched Mark Isham rehearse for a concert. My friend Gordon saw Lords of the New Church play live there. They had a full bar where Cure videos would play and a back alley that was solid graffiti - so much so that it was a landmark; bands would have publicity pics taken back there; Mark, Rob & I shot part of a college film back there. It's very sad, but I must say, unsurprising.

Anyway, veering back on topic, Friday consisted of getting settled with rental cars and motel rooms and whatnot, but I did squeeze in dinner with my buddy Konrad, actor & filmmaker.

Saturday, 7/22: Spent the day with Sam's folks. We drove up to San Francisco and went to the Exploratorium. I still remember when the place opened - I was in Jr. High and it was the coolest place evar. Of course now we're spoiled because we have the Pacific Science Center in Seattle, which is like the Exploratorium only cleaner and with air conditioning. Actually, the Exploratorium has a few more hands-on displays, and a new nanotechnology exhibit that they are getting the guests to build for them. Tyler worked on it for quite some time, and Kayleigh gave it some elbow grease (which we all had plenty of, what with the 90+ degree heat in the old warehouse structure). Even (or perhaps especially) Sam's dad got into it.

Had an early dinner and dropped the kids with the grands for a couple hours while I went to meet with drummer and happy polar bear twin, Steven Fox. Steve will be playing drums on several tracks for the tribute CD. We had a good time catching up.

Sunday, 7/23: Did I mention the Bay Area is having the same heat wave everyone in the country is having? We got some food and headed out to Mitchell Park in Palo Alto for the reunion picnic, the temps already pushing 90 at 10:AM. Crazy heat. Stupid heat. Ended up being 106 that day. Randy reported a high of 115 or thereabouts at his home in Rocklin.

Aaaaanyway, I got to see some friends I hadn't seen in 10 years (since the 10-year reunion), and it was interesting. The guys who were jocks back then mostly hung around the BBQ grill together talking about business acquisitions and whose wife had been caught sleeping with someone else, while the former arts people congregated in the shade of a tree and chilled out (as much as one can "chill" when the temp is climbing toward 100).

I was happy to see several of my old homies. Within minutes we were making with the yak yak like no time had passed. Some of them have kids of their own. Two are filmmakers (New York & Los Angeles), one is a dancer, two are chefs, some own their own businesses, one is a genetic scientist, and others are in software & hardware (of the computer variety). Our friends Paul & Marte showed up, despite the fact that Paul was in Sam's class ('85) and Marte was a year behind me ('87), they average out to '86, and we didn't hang out with our our own class exclusively anyway. Mark Allen & I agreed that we would have ruled YouTube if it had been around back in the day, with all of our backyard video shenannigans (I love that word). Surprisingly, only one person hadn't heard about Sam, so that was easy to handle. (Photo, L-R: Konrad, some dork, Mark, Ray)

After the picnic, some of us congregated back at my motel for a dip in the pool, followed by a nice Mexican dinner (and some muy bueno sangria). Turns out, Paul & Marte are on our return flight to Seattle. This is the second time such a random travel thingy has occurred. In 1999, Sam & I went on an Alaska cruise with her folks. We were on Holland-America, and a Celebrity ship was always right ahead of us or right behind us in every port of call. Turns out, Paul & Marte were on the Celebrity ship. We'd been in the same ports at the same time and had never known.

Monday, 7/24: Randy met us at the motel and we carpooled "over the hill" to Santa Cruz. I was a little rusty on highway 17. It twists and turns through the Santa Cruz mountains, and I used to navigate that sucker on autopilot. But the old knowledge soon returned and I shook off the rust. We congregated at the harbor where my dad had taken his intermediate sailing lessons. It's really cleaned up down there. As a kid, I used to play around the dumpster, which was usually full of porn.

We boarded the Chardonnay II, a beautiful 70' Santa Cruz design. The captain and his two crew were wonderful. We were under sail the moment we were past the breakers. The day could not have been more perfect - not too hot, not too cold, a steady breeze. We couldn't go out as far as we'd wanted to, simply because there was enough chop to make a burial at sea somewhat problematic. Some of my dad & stepmom's closest friends were there - all family, really. They threw flowers until the sea was a colorful carpet. Katherine released the ashes of Admiral Nelson, my dad's Amazon parrot. Then more flowers, then my dad. I was videotaping the whole thing, and was so intent on getting the shot that it wasn't until I was following the light gray splotch on the water's surface that I realized I wasn't "in the moment". So I put the camera down and filled my sunglasses as I watched the remains of my father drift away to be claimed by the sea. "Fair winds, Captain," I heard Randy say. "Following Seas," I added.

We gathered for lunch at the Crow's Nest, a great restaurant there at the harbor. Then Sara, Gavin & Michelle took the kids to the Boardwalk while Randy & I met up with another old Santa Cruz friend, Randy Rhodes (aka Dick Hollywood). Film connoisseur, critic, production guy and all around hack (in the best way possible), RR was a year ahead of me at Aptos High, and was in some film classes with Sam at SF State. We met at the top of Pacific Garden Mall and wandered down to The Catalyst for a couple beers. There is a certain vibe creeping back into Santa Cruz - it feels a bit more like its old self again. There was a homogenization after the big quake in '89, and it hadn't retained that old Santa Cruz bohemian weirdness. Some of that is back.

And The Catalyst hasn't changed at all.

Tuesday, 7/25: Still hot. The whole family met at Hobee's in Sunnyvale, where we had a trustee meeting and ate the famous blueberry coffee cake. Sara, Gavin & Michelle took Kayleigh and went to Great America, while Tyler & I headed into Palo Alto. I helped Katherine get to some stuff in the storeroom (which is basically the finished room in the garage of her rental home, the room that was once my dad's office, and my room when we kids moved in with them in 1984).

Then Tyler & I went up to University Avenue to meet with my buddy Mark, Pixar veteran, husband, father of twin 5yo boys. Mark and I went to school at Aptos, then lost touch when he moved to Athens, GA and I moved to Palo Alto. We reconnected in 1989 when Dave Beach and I were taking film courses at De Anza College and Mark just happened to be in one. The last time I'd seen Mark, the twins were less than a year old and Sam got to hold them. I'm happy that Mark & I have the kind of friendship that is always good - it's not a high-maintenance thing. There is always love and respect, regardless of time and distance.

Came back to the motel and let Tyler have a swim, then I collapsed and got a short nap between phone calls. Sara and the girls finally made it back about 6:PM, and she took off to hang out with her friends. My old friend Mike (whom I've known since 3rd grade) came out and we took the girls out for Chinese food while Tyler hung out in the motel room. After some digestion and whatnot, the kids got a swim and Mike & I got to chat. I'd seen Mike last year when he took his motorcycle road trip to Seattle, but it was still good to get caught up. Good things are happening to the two of us, and I hope it continues.

After a day at Great America, an hour in the pool and a belly full of Chinese food, the kids crashed out and are still not awake at the time of this posting.

Today we plan to have lunch with my uncle, and hopefully will get to see Dave Beach again before we leave.

This has been a wonderful trip, made so by the friends and family with whom we've interacted. But once again, it reassures me I live in the right city, that this area is not my home. I can't wait to get home and see Wiley and James Brown, see what progress has been made on the house, get set for Ordinary Angels casting... it's coming up on Crazy Time this fall.

Hang on tight.

[blink] WHAT?? TWENTY YEARS??

So, yeah.

Tomorrow morning, I will board a plane with my children, my sister and my neice. We will be hanging out in the old hood for a week. Oh yeah, and we're gonna scatter my dad's ashes off the Santa Cruz coast, where we did my grandfather's back in '84. My big bro Randy will be in attendance on the sail, and we're going to hang out in Santa Cruz for drinks that night, sort of an early birthday thingy for him.

Hoping to see a bunch of folks. Will likely be doing exactly that at the family BBQ for the Palo Alto High School class of '86. For you young folks reading this, I'm talking about 1886, when President Grover Cleveland wed himself a young girl in the White House and Karl Benz patented his newfangled gasoline-powered automobile. Coca-Cola was a nickel and Spain abolished slavery in Cuba.

Just kidding. I'm not quite that old.

No, we're talking 1986, when gasoline prices broke $1 per gallon and caused a major public outcry. We had funny colored hair and made sure our ties matched our socks, worshipped teen-avatar John Hughes and an art house Aussie named Mel Gibson. The space shuttle Challenger blew up, Germany was still two separate countries, and Ronald Reagan made jokes about starting World War 3. Huzzah!

It was also the year I released my first film, took a roadtrip to Canada with my future wife, and realized that the easy part was over - I was a legal adult and needed to act the part. So much for that. All that history was part of another life, and although I can look back fondly and remember the fun and challenging times I had when I was "that guy", I'm not "that guy" anymore. So it'll be interesting to see friends from that time, see how they've changed (or not). I have zero expectations and quite a few non-school chums to link up with.

While we're gone, the contractors should be hanging drywall. The garden window is in and the floors & doors have been chosen. There's electrical wire, coaxial cable and CAT5 network cable running everywhere. I hope to come back to solid walls.

I'll keep blogging from CA, if I can. Peace out, my homies.

Serendipitous, And Then Some

Last night, as I slipped off to sleep, I surrendered to the goodwill of the Universe, and asked for good things to be put in my path...

This morning, as I awoke refreshed from a restful sleep, I offered thanks for the gifts it had offered in the past, and made it known I was ready for some Really Good Stuff (TM)...

I went to Southcenter with Kayleigh to replace the leather jacket I'd lost in the fire. We hit Wilson's, and I found an awesome black bomber in a "big & tall" cut (for length, thank you - I have been losing weight). Discovered this jacket (ordinarily $350) was on clearance for $60.

Thank you, Universe!

Took Kayleigh to the West Seattle street fair, parked at my brother's place and walked up the hill to the Junction. As we passed the stalls of Hawaiian ice and tie-dye clothing and political-cause-on-a-stick, I saw that Village Woodworks was having a sale (PLUS they pay sales tax). On a whim, I ducked inside to walk around and look. Ordinarily, they are way out of my range - REALLY awesome, solid wood furniture in the $1000+ range for just about anything. But I happened to spy a solid pine dining table in a country/craftsman style, with corner legs (thick and lathe turned), 4 matching chairs like the set we used to have, $280. AND they'll hold it until the house is finished. One less room to furnish, at a STEAL for the quality!

Thank you, Universe!

On the way back to Gavin's, we passed the south stage, and who should be performing a live acoustic set, but my favorite Seattle songbird, Carrie Akre (formerly of Hammerbox, Goodness and The Rockfords)?! She showcased a few of the songs from her new album in-progress, as well as a few of her earlier solo pieces. Kayleigh sat piggyback and got to see one of her singer-songwriter idols. We got an intimate serenade from 10-feet away, and left the fair at the end of her set, very happy indeed.

Thank you, Universe!

We arrived home to find the painters working on the north side of the house. And Shandalla came over and cooked lemon chicken and green beans and a mozzarella/tomato/basil salad for dinner.

Thank you, Universe!

I'm so happy with today. I mean, it really doesn't matter how or why - whether its random chance, or just my perception of good stuff happening or whether I'm making it happen by putting myself in synch with the Universe. What matters is I feel in synch, and I feel like I'm empowering myself (forgive the use of the "e" word) to manifest good in my life.

It's just another step forward, and it's nice to feel like I'm not taking three steps back at the same time. And it's nice to feel like I'm not jousting my daily windmills for nothing.

Tomorrow starts the kids' Pacific Science Center day camps, so I may not have a lot of time to post this coming week. We leave Friday morning for California. I will try to take pictures and post some here.

Once More, Unto the Breach

So I managed to get through the week (le pant, le gasp). Think I put more miles on the car this week than in the past month. Mostly in trips down to Southcenter to order, pick up and/or exchange lighting hardware for the house. The HVAC guys ended up taking up a lot more space downstairs than before, so there are a number of very... er, "creative" soffit constructs here and there. It is so amazing to see how little these guys consider the other trades when doing their own work. 'Scuse me, just gonna bust through this wall here... what? You don't want a two-foot box hanging down from the middle of your bedroom ceiling??

Anyway, the insurance company, in their infinite generosity, has given me a whopping $1500.00 allowance for replacing my upstairs appliances. That means I will be out of pocket another four grand or so (on top of the four grand for the cabinetry). Joy. We can cover that with some of the contents settlement, but I really have to be careful.

Looks like I will be running speaker and network cable today and tomorrow, and the electrical will be finished up next week (followed by inspection). Insulation will also go in next week, and the drywall will go up while we're in California. Target date for move-in is end of September.

It's hell trying to keep organized records in this micro-office next to my bed, but I really need to pull together all the financials from last tax year to give to my poor, long-suffering accountant. I wonder if there is a subconscious reason I've procrastinated so long in getting the records together - like it's a way to hold onto Sam. 2005 is the last tax year I can file married. A lot happened that year. A lot I'd like to forget, and a lot I never want to forget.

Or maybe it's just because we had a fire and a lot of our records were destroyed, and I've had a host of other priorities at the same time. Regardless of the excuse, I need to get the records to the accountant before we leave for California.

My neighbor/friend/actress/producer Darlene accompanied the kids and me to the hospital on Thursday night to visit Caleb. He's in fine, surly spirits. Apparently, his major criteria for being discharged is that he must fart. I offered to bring him some Taco del Mar, but he declined. Apparently beef broth, jello and tea are more his thing. Honestly, I didn't expect both kids to want to go with us to the hospital - the last two people they visited in such a setting died. But they did, and they were good. The kids left a mantra on the whiteboard:

Happy thought for the day...
FART!

Addendum: Andrew has this posted over at his LiveJournal. I decided to check it out, and surprise surprise...

If You Ruled the Land . . . by wackyweasel
Your first name:	T-bone
How you gained your rule:	Rightful heir!!
Your title is:	Your Great Grand High Majesty
Your symbol is:	the cat, because cats are fluffy and nice
You rule from:	a great, golden, gem-studded palace
At your side is:	your Jack Russel terrier, Wishbone Jr.
Your enforcers, troops, and guards are all:	centaurs! They should NOT be so hot . . . oh well!
Your most popular law is:	Kareoke Wednesdays, with prizes! EVERYWHERE!!
Your least popular law is:	Regulation of a national favorite color
Your worst enemy is:	cranberries - ewww
Your popularity rating is:: 85%
Your chance of being overthrown is:: 16%
Quiz created with MemeGen!

Pirates of the Hasselhoff

Took the kids to Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest. I liked it. Some parts were a bit scary for Kayleigh, but she was never scared to the point of closing her eyes - she just squeezed my hand and whispered, "Eeeewww - that guy has an octopus head!" Tyler loved it, especially the return of the zombie monkey from Curse of the Black Pearl. Be sure to stay for the credits, as there is an extra little tidbit at the end.

Afterward, we went to Seattle Lighting and picked up the fixtures for the house. Drove all the way home with an 8-foot track light bar bisecting the interior of the Sportage. It was cool to get out with the kids and do a summer thing like go to a great popcorn type movie.

Of course, I got home to see my brother had left me a message consisting of this link. He said it would make me want to gouge out my eyes with forks. He was right.

So now I sit typing blind with stupid forks in my eye sockets, and rejoicing that the plumber is back out at the house, fixing some issues. I think we passed plumbing inspection and he was going to make said changes after said inspection. And I have a rental house living room full of boxed light fixtures. I win.

Spare some juju for my good friend Caleb, who has gone under the knife today to have almost a foot of his colon removed. We're thinking about you, buddy!

Manic Monday

Wow.

Just... Wow.

Awoke to Wiley going seven kinds of apeshit because of all the activity happening at the house today. The painters were there, working on the exterior. The electricians were there, running wire. The HVAC guys were there, running heating conduit. I went over and started pruning the neglected hazelnut trees, and of course got pulled aside by each sub for an opinion or clarification.

Then these local gardeners came by asking for work. Half an hour and $100 later, the giant camelia bush in front and its nondescript bushy cousin around the side were gone, chopped up and hauled away. Sweet.

Steve came by to have lunch, which was awesome. Been too long since I've seen the Bro-Hamma.

And here are some pics of the outside of the house now...

As Promised...

As promised, here's the final poster for Once Upon a Mattress. I usually strive for more of an artistic design sense (see last year's poster for Fiddler on the Roof), but in choosing the Medieval illumination motif, I kind of limited my options in that regard.

In the tradition of Medieval picture commentary, I added little "word balloons". The prince on horseback is saying, "More than my ice cream do I love thee... let us get hitched," to which the princess replies, "Pulleth my finger." The dude on the far right is holding a coffee pot (embellished with a slightly altered logo from a particular Seattle-based coffee company), and promising, "One venti double-shot espresso cometh up."

I'm off to my friend Shandalla's birthday gathering. Coffee tomorrow AM with Ron, followed by studio time at Brian's, to lay down the basic tracks for the last three songs on the tribute CD - by God, I will get that done. Then I have to go by rehearsal in the PM to drop off a CD with the poster and flyer designs so they can get materials ready for the West Seattle Street Fair.

The plumber has been working all weekend on my house, so hopefully he will be done when the electrician comes in on Monday to start running wire. I just bought my couches for the family room at the local LaZboy clearance (and even at clearance - yikes!), and am having them hold the pieces for 2 months to allow the contractors to finish. The painter has already started on the exterior. Every day it takes shape a bit more.

All Depression and No Sleep Makes Todd Something Something

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If dad were here, it would be better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Be well.

Summer Craziness (and Some are Not)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too Bloody Hot

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Todd Downing, 1999

Last Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sigh. Apple slices and granola bars, anyone?

Everything After

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

Will the moment we fear
Turn to everything clear

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

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

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

Until the moment we fear
Turns to everything clear

We are down here
We are space

- Revis, "Everything After"

* * *

I'm tired.

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

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

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

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

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

Father / Dad

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

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

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

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

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

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

ConGraduations

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

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

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

It's Never Easy...

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

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

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

Where to begin, where to begin...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Watching You Without Me

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

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

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

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

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

- Kate Bush

Some Enchanted Evening

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ugh. Thanks a lot, Rodgers & Hammerstein.

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

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

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

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

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

...right now it sucks.

People Watching

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

One Year for Dad

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

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

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

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

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

Until then...