Here's Poppa Rickie

It's been about a week since Michelle's Dad Ken (aka Poppa Rickie) moved in with us. He's got a little trailer he stays in, and it's his own space.

He helps a lot outside, and spring is a good time to have an energetic outdoor-doer. We all make an effort to get along and so we do. It's an adjustment, but not a big one. It's nice to have him around.

I was looking through one of those big coffee table books on Paris which I had recently scored at a local estate sale, and I took some satisfaction at showing him the image of the topless dancers in the Red Light district. With very little prodding I blabbed on and on about the history of the Eiffel Tower in a nusthell, and he and Michelle and I had such a good conversation I felt like they were doing me a favor, and maybe they were. I enjoyed it in any event.

San Francisco

We went to Pier 39 in San Francisco yesterday, shopped the outdoor mall and had a good time. We took Michelle's nephew James along, and I'm glad we did. He's grown up with a good heart and strong sense of humor. Plus, he bought me a beer; that always helps.

We caught a street performance by a performer who worked juggling into a love-triangle skit. It was a little forced, but she was lively and charming enough. I tipped her a fiver, and I gave Brian a buck to tip her, too. Brian started out cranky, but she had won him over by the end.

We saw the seals, Brian and Michelle went on a cool Merry Go Round, and I got to eat a fantastic chocolate dessert crépe that Brian "shared" with me after swearing he didn't want one. That's ok, I pulled the same trick when he got an ice cream ten minutes later!

It was a beautiful day out.

Shouting across the gulf

Everything is going along just fine, but then I turn around and see the distance between us. I turn and move to close the distance. I look, and she's there, waiting. I open a channel of communication as I do so, and start to explain the view from my side of the gulf.

With a harsh word, she hacks at the bond that connects us and the line clouds with an intolerable static. Although she muddies the line, it's me who severs it. The bridge looked sturdy, but it slackens. The ground at my feet cracks and gives and inspires worry.

Should I beg to simply be heard? "Pride goeth before a fall," yes, but is a little dignity too much to ask, especially when you've anted up enough already? Maybe it's hubris, but at the moment my answer is no. Maybe it's an excess of ego. On the other hand maybe it's been not nearly enough.

That's the risk of wearing your heart on your sleeve: every once in a while, someone slugs you in the arm. The trouble with being Mr. Nice Guy: people routinely mistake it for a kind of weakness, instead of what it is: a kind of strength. It's an investment, and all investments involve risk. They don't all involve a payoff.

Artifacts

Our impending move has forced us to do things we should have been doing all along; things like sorting through our belongings and tossing the junk.

What strikes me most lately is the connections to the past, the sentimental items that remind you of other times, other people, other priorities. My wife and I both found ourselves making the face that accompanies difficult choices: a grimace where the things of the past are weighed against the practicality of the present, and the sentimental thing loses by a close margin, and enters the whirlwind of trash that roughly blows into anonymous history. The face gives unspoken voice to thoughts like:

"This used to mean so much to me."
"Cliff would have liked this."
"I really thought this would work out. How wrong I was."

I hate that face; both making it, and seeing it on my wife.

Happy faces for Uncle Cliff

I used to chat online with my brother a lot. Since he had moved away our busy lives made voice calls difficult, and since he got sick, he was stranded next to the computer a lot. It was a huge help in keeping us connected and rebuilding the tattered relationship left over from our youths.

My son would frequently want attention during these chat sessions, and he was very attracted to the cartoonish emoticons and other brief, goofy animations you could send to your correspondent; to say hi with a mummy, or let a vampire tell them their breath stank, or whatever. Pretty soon, Brian would want to "send happy faces to Uncle Cliff" all the time. Sometimes Uncle Cliff was at the computer on the other end, sometimes not; Brian like to interact with him, but was also well-entertained just clicking on the cartoons, which worked fine even if no one was watching on the other end.

My brother was good with my little son. He'd tolerate the toddling imp, his ridiculous energy, and even enjoy his crazy kid nonsense much more than I did. He could key into it in a way that I still wish I could better emulate. He also enjoyed the chat interaction with Brian, and would throw all the weirdest animations right back at Brian that he could find, and crack him up.

Right after my brother died, Brian would still want to "send happy faces to Uncle Cliff." I couldn't tell whether he intended that Uncle Cliff was on the other end of it, or if that's just what he'd come to call the act of clicking on those cartoons. Just to be sure, I had to gently explain that Uncle Cliff couldn't send happy faces back any more. It kills me, this contrast between nostalgia, tragedy and the unknowing innocence of a five year-old boy.

I still remember you, bro. We all still have happy faces for Uncle Cliff.

My son, the new Buddha

My son has a friend at school who wasn't always a friend. As a matter of fact, they didn't get along at all for the first several months they knew each other. Then suddenly, he didn't speak with his usual youthful bitterness about his little foe, so his Momma asked him why.

"We just looked into each other's hearts, saw the good in each other and set aside our differences, and now we're friends."

Kids say the darnedest, most philosophical things.

Where does the time go? It goes, that's for sure

The last year or so has been a turning point in the way I think.

I've wasted many seasons, and usually the most I can generate is a little passing regret, like: "darn it, didn't go camping again this year." I've always had an "eye on the clock" when it comes to my own mortality, but this is the first time in my life where my thoughts have frequently have been on terms like: "Brian will never have another summer at six years old."

It's troubling, but at the same time I'm glad. Time is all we really have, and anything that helps me avoid taking it for granted is a welcome thing.

>sigh<

Time to get ready for work.

Cliff's funeral

We had Cliff's funeral yesterday. It was brief, but it did the job.

By "did the job," I mean that it gave a lot of us a chance to get together as a unique community and remember him. I'm turning out to be quite an isolationist, but I have to say it felt proper and natural to sit with people in this grief, and stand in front of them and try to tell them what I had lost, what they had lost.

Through lack of preparation (mostly my own), I allowed someone else to give Cliff's eulogy: his ex-wife's brother Chris. He did a fine job, and I felt a stab of shame that I wasn't up there doing it myself. Kirk, the pastor/priest/religious muckety-muck (I can't keep the titles straight) neared the end of the prayers and speeches, he offerred to let some of the attendees say a few words about Cliff. I was grateful for the chance to do so, and I sprinted out of my pew like a runner off the mark. I had been thinking for weeks about what I would say about my brother, and although wisps of thought would blow through my empty head, somehow a lifetime of experiences wouldn't line up and play nice for this presentation.

Still, I had been able to cobble together a few key points, that my brother was intelligent, compassionate and courageous, and that we'd lost a good man. I managed to walk the line between grief and stoicism without disintegrating and croak out a few minutes of this tribute in an anguish groan of a voice, which I wasn't at all sure that I could manage until it was done. It's not as good as he deserved (my brother deserved an army of people to fill that place and take a week to wail and praise his humanity), but it was an able attempt.

I was tremendously heartened by others who stood up to say a few words on my brother's behalf, two of whom were from his ex-wife's family. My brother had taken them into his home for months at a time when they had pitifully few other options, and helped to raise their children as some sort of a family unit at a time when their lives were in a tremendous state of fluctuation. I knew in the back of my mind that he had done things like that, but it was wildly bolstering to be reminded, and to know that those people remembered and still appreciated his generosity and sacrifice on their behalf. When I said he was a better man than me, this is just one example.

We collected afterward and I reflected on his openness with people and how it contrasts with my own detachment. He took to people much better than I ever did, warmed to them and accepted them with an open and generous heart, and I am only beginning to realize and admire the courage that that took. I am getting to an age where I can see more and more clearly that my own detachment is a huge mistake.

This is just one of the lessons I am taking from Cliff's loss. It's been a lesson for which the price was far too great - I'd much rather be ignorant and have my brother back. Since that's not an option, I'll have to do my best not to waste what benefit his passing has bestowed.

Cliff is gone.

My brother, Cliff Bickle, passed away yesterday at 6:20 a.m. after a long fight with a brain stem tumor that took nearly everything from him over time, before it finally did take everything, and a damn good chunk of something from me and the rest of his family, too.

I can't take the time to memorialize in this space or anywhere else just now because I have to work and it tears at my heart to think about it (although my wife and I celebrated and remembered his life just a bit last night). This post is just to plant a temporal flag that it happened and when. Soon, I'll have the opportunity to grieve and remember more appropriately one the damned few friends I had in this world.

Rejuvenated

I just wrapped up a luxurious stint of 5 days off work in a row. I admit that I am a somewhat happy with myself for finding the right attitude towards this time off, and spending it wisely. It was rejuvenating, as it should be.

How could someone screw up days off work? Me, that's who. Usually I get so tensed up at the opportunity to embrace the gift of unrestrained time I get set on this frenzied autopilot and do nothing but housework until a better idea comes along. Inevitably I end up at the end of a stretch of time and look back at a trail of domestic breadcrumbs that the birds are nearly finished eating already. Laundry and dishes are a noble-enough goal, but there's got to be more to life.

And so there was.

• I took my family to a trout internment camp in Sonora with my wife & son and "caught" some of the easiest fish on the planet.
  
• I ate like a king (but not like a hog), including genuine French red wine and Brie cheese. Also including some fresh trout.
  
• I picked up that damned electric guitar and dumbly plowed forward with attempts to look less like a chimp with a slippery handgun. Minor progress made, but progress!
  
• I picked up a book on 3D animation that I've had for months and ignored with heroically stupid stoicism.
  
• I got some exercise, which is always a good, if intermittent thing.
• I performed comedy at a place two hours away for no money; kicked a fair bit of ass at it, too.
  

...and some other stuff, but that's the lion's share of it. I am facing a stunted work week without much regret at all, and that is a very good thing. There's a lot of good in my life, but chances to stop and breathe and reflect are too few. I'm very glad I had my head on straight for it, rather than screwing myself out of it with a the wrong attitude.

Tired

Yesterday was just about perfect.

I woke up early, felt pretty good, and started the day by lifting some weights. I've been making another in a string of countless attempts to exercise with regular frequency, and over the last two weeks I've made a good run at it.

After that, it was housework for several hours straight. My brother-in-law John is coming for a visit this week, and if we don't make a big push over the weekend, there's no chance the place won't look like Hell when he arrives mid-week. We should have company every week; maybe then the place won't look like we rent it out to slaughterhouses and fraternities on the weekends.

Weather was perfect, and the afternoon and evening saw me building a nice little campfire in the firepit, and farting around with it (and a few Red Tail Ales) until after the sun went down. I played with my son throughout the evening, and generally had a great time.

One drawback of note: spring is here, and on the very day we set the clocks forward, I started a familiar routine of waking up sneezing. Here we go again.

Snow, man

Sunday morning (yesterday) woke up to an unusually snowy condition, in Valley Springs and elsewhere in the state. Newsworthy, even.

We wrapped up my boy and sent him out to frolic in the flakes, his gear including a boy-sized pair of house-slippers. Hey, we never said we were good at this.

We even managed to put together a pretty fair snowman. One departure from the norm: we didn't have any carrots, so the part of his nose was played by a dill pickle. I had to discourage a boy who'd skipped breakfast for flurrying fun not to eat the snowman's proboscis.

Happy Anniversary

My wife and I took yesterday to celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary. We spent it in true middle class fashion, driving into a real town with movie theaters, shopping centers and other civilized services, and spending money.

We held hands the whole drive.

We spent money in amounts that would embarrass the poor by their extravagance, and the rich by their paltriness. For us though: just right.

I shopped for books, she shopped for candy, and we were both happy. We talked about tattoos, music and how silly conditions at work are. We ate like denim royalty and at the end, we were full.

Long weekend

I had a good weekend.

I busted out housework like it was going out of style. I'm usually pretty good about that, but I went above and beyond this weekend.

I feel bad for my poor wife. She's had a nasty two weeks, pushing herself through a terrible cold and crippling backache. A new schedule and maybe too strenuous a pace could be forcing her to take it easy for a change. I tried to help out so she could slip into a lower gear, but she's still burning some oil. I hope she feels better soon.

I do wish I'd spent more time with my son. I flipped between two modes: busy as hell and fairly exhausted. Neither really made for excellent parenting modes. The boy was happy enough doing his own thing, but I can do a better job.

Big Day

I woke up this morning with the realization that today is my son's first day of kindergarten. It was no surprise and the anticipation hasn't really affected me in the preceding days, other than logistical concerns involving who drives where and when.

Still, as I opened my eyes I had the distinct sensation of a roller coaster car reaching the final, clanking, uphill procession, and that of a passenger looking down at an unstoppable, exponentially speedy trip down a nearly incomprehensible and frightening series of twists, loops, volcanic leaps and stomach-torquing drops.

Here we go. Too late to get off now. And breakfast isn't sitting so well at the moment.

Frame of reference

Parents say that they learn from their kids, and I'm experiencing that. An example:

My boy is four. As a four year-old, he is developing the swashbuckling habit of running in one direction, but giggling and looking in another. He's good enough at running that he takes it for granted, watching his feet pound the earth beneath him, or looking back at his pursuer for unadvisably extended periods of time. He'll learn soon enough that he'll be money ahead to monitor the immediate forward, but it's one of those things one doesn't appreciate until one experiences it for oneself.

So, he regularly crashes and burns. And when he does, he sometimes weeps like a murder victim clinging to life. As a father I hate to see him suffer, and I also recognize the human tendency to occasionally milk a mild injury beyond the pain it's likely to have caused without drawing blood.

It occurs to me that even minor spills test his known boundaries for pain. He's only been ambulatory for a couple of years now, and falling down is thankfully the major source of pain in his life. Therefore every time he eats it, as far as he's concerned it could be the worst pain he's ever felt. On his threshold of pain, skinning his knee tops the charts, tripping and smacking his head against drywall is as close to death as his frame of reference allows.

My point is that when I comfort him, I assure him that the pain will pass, and soon. It further occurs to me that it's fair advice for me as well.

I have spent hours, days, (months if you can believe it) dreading a sting that I fear will come. Sometimes it did, and sometimes it didn't. Will my wife reject me? Will my boss fire me? Will I fail to make the rent/mortgage? The time spent in a slow-motion flinch, a tensing, squinting worry that was far worse than the actual, eventual pain. A pain which, I'm happy to say, went away. Broken ankle, broken heart, broken social compact, they suck, but not nearly as bad as I thought they would, and often not as long. The pain will pass, and sooner than you think.

Once you've been kicked in the teeth a time or two, you tend to gain a steadiness from it. It's what I imagine allows boxers to do what they do. You ever been punched in the fucking face? That shit hurts, but these guys make a living getting drilled dozens of times on and about the face by somebody who's good at it. And they manage. Once you've been there and survived it, surmounted it, it still hurts, but you come away realizing it didn't kill you. You can face further blows and realize: "I've been hit harder than this."

I only recently came to understand this resilience, and I think it's a primary reason that happy people appear as buoyant as they do. They've been knocked down, but they realize that it's not likely to be the end of the world. Nobody ever gets more than one death blow, and it makes damned little sense to spend your whole life leaning away from it, especially when it's even money whether you'll see it coming anyway.

Sibling revelry

I got to see my brother yesterday. He's far enough away that we don't visit a lot. I was pleasantly surprised that he's looking better, feeling better. He's lost some of the weight his medication put on him, and was mobile and clear-headed. I worry about him, and it was a happy relief to see some improvement. Good on 'im, as the Australians say.

Also, his kids were impressive in appearance and demeanor. Growing up good-looking and well-behaved. Good on them, too.

I can't miss you unless you leave

My wife took my son for a few days' trip to her sister's in SoCal. This morning's last-minute preparations were longer and more intense than I expected, and by the time she left I was profoundly grateful that she had done so. Personalities clashed and pressure pressed as the fear of leaving behind something crucial caused the quiet friction that is as close to discord as we ever get. We do pretty well even under the worst of circumstances, for which I'm both proud and grateful.

I feel good again

I have felt such a funk for most of the week. Just a wet blanket of negativity and frustration draped heavily across my shoulders, and I couldn't shake it. Couldn't find the positive.

Last night I arrived home from work, and my wife spent the next 13 hours making life right again. If ever a soul was given first aid, it was then. A simple meal, simple pleasures like our calm tradition of catching a regular television show together.

I had a night of the best, deepest, sleep I've had in recent memory. I spent the extra half-hour afforded to me by a late-starting work schedule enjoying French toast and coffee, and watching a talk show with very mellow discussion of theater, acting and poetry with the great John Lithgow.

The simplicity of these acts minimized not a whit the balm effect on my psychic second-degree burns. This morning I once again possess a calm feeling of wellness, so desperately missed of late that I could now weep upon its return. Such rejuvenation. Such bliss.

I thanked my angel for being the good thing in my life.

Life goes on

You know it's bad when my brother blogs more recently than me. It's never a good sign when my blog goes quiet. It just indicates things are... not entirely well with me.

But, things are not all bad. The immediate family is healthy and happy - my poor brother is still fucked, and I wonder against which gods he has transgressed for such a persistent, brutal curse to befall him- but everybody under my single roof is of reasonably good cheer.

Speaking of which: Ken, my wife's dad who has lived with us for several months now, moved back home to the ranch last week, taking another ragged swipe at matrimony and hoping for sunny days ahead. Our best wishes go with him.