A Life Remembered

We awoke early on Saturday morning, dressed in our Sunday best, filled up the gas tank and the tires and headed north to Bellingham.  The immediate family gathered at St. James Presbyterian Church to remember and celebrate the life of my grandfather, Jack Tyler Brown.  My mom's cousin Judy and her daughter Kat (with whom I'd grown up) had flown out for the event, Kat coming all the way from Florida.

It was more formal than my dad's memorial had been, or Samantha's for that matter.  But totally appropriate for Jack.  I was holding it together pretty well until the bagpiper played "Scotland the Brave" as the processional - which had been used as the recessional at Sam's & my wedding.  So that was a kick in the gut.  There were hymns and scripture readings, and a duet of congregation members who play ancient instruments played "Amazing Grace" on a concertina and hurdy gurdy - which unplugged the dam and let loose the waterworks.

Opa holding me in Germany, 1968

There was a time of sharing remembrances, where folks in attendance stood up and talked about my grandfather and what a good guy he was.  And then it fell to us.  My brother went to the lectern and spoke of "moments", a very loving and evocative tribute.  Then I followed with the piece at the bottom of this post.  My stepdad Robert finished up with the tale of his whirlwind courtship of my mother almost 30 years ago, and how he was welcomed by my grandfather into the family.

Opa and me being goofy, circa 1981

Laughter punctuated the mistiness here and there, but when the veteran color guard marched down the center aisle and performed the flag ceremony, all eyes gushed.  The flag was slowly and methodically unfolded and held at a slightly upward-facing angle while "Taps" played and we barely remained upright.  Then they re-folded Old Glory and the naval officer presented it to my grandmother, who had not expected the ceremony at all.

Opa holding his grandson Tyler in Seattle, 1994

The congregation gathered in the reception hall and partook of the buffet while my photo montage cycled on my laptop.  The family then retired to my grandmother's house and shared stories and photos and wine.  Rae and I made a vow to travel north more often and spend some time with my grandmother, as there is much family history I feel I need to absorb.  It seems like no matter how many times you hear the old stories, there's always something new to discover.

Omi & Opa at my wedding to Raechelle, 2009

Anyway, this was my tribute:

Jack Tyler Brown was the kind of guy who made an impact on people.  Whether through his naval service, his teaching career, his church community or his family.  I have no doubt everyone here could tell a story about how my grandfather impacted their lives.  I could speak about how he connected with others, how he never met a stranger, how he thrived in a marriage of almost seven decades, how he served his country, how he was an icon to his students, how he always had a hug and a smile for a visitor.  But I’m going to be selfish for a moment and take this opportunity to tell you about how Jack Brown impacted *my* life.

It was due to my being born on an Army base in Germany that Jack was known as “Opa” to his grandchildren.  When Jack and Dorothy came across the Atlantic to see their first grandchild, they were given the German names for their station.

“Opa” did with me all the things a grandfather should do with a grandson:  He taught me how to fish, and how to clean what we caught.  He taught me how to make homemade ice cream, and how to grow scarlet runner beans and tomatoes.  We built things together.  We explored the beach or the dunes or a mountain trail, and afterward collapsed in a recliner and snoozed in front of the ballgame (something I know my siblings experienced as well).  We were silly.  We were incredibly silly.

Staying with Omi & Opa during the summers of my youth, whether at their cabin in the Sierras, or their home in Florence, Oregon, are some of my fondest memories.  Weekend mornings, the smell of coffee and newsprint, sharing the bed and the Sunday comics section with two laughing grandparents and one of three consecutive dogs.

And while all of these wonderful moments do add up, what was even more powerful is the message he gave to me.  I was smart.  I was able.  I was capable of achieving anything I set my mind to.  And it didn’t matter what that was – as long as I lived worthy of life.

That is how Jack Tyler Brown impacted my life.  I will treasure his memory, just as I will miss his hugs and his laughter, and his amazing pistachio bunt cake.

Thar Be Traysure Here!

Just when you think you've gone through all the old artwork and photos and financial records from your twenty-year relationship, there's always another little file box. You know, the plastic ones you thought had melted in the fire, or at least had failed to protect whatever was inside...

Stuff like these band photos (by Randy Hensel) from the college Mozart Air Raid days:

Or, even further back in time:

Along with four metric assloads of old scripts, short stories, novels, and original Zingo comic strips.

Stuff like that can be a real emotional roller coaster. Fortunately a lot of it was pre-Sam, so it didn't contain a lot of that particular brand of melancholy. And I was able to get rid of a whole garbage bag of stuff. So there's that.

Summer is here, which means I've been having to train the kids to respect the office as sacrosanct. No walking up behind me and just launching into a question or conversation; knock and ask first. It also means doing a daily list of chores for both kids. If they're not in school, by golly, they're pulling their weight in this household.

Got a couple shoots coming up and a lot on our collective househunting and wedding prep plate, but we're doing well, in total. I've also had a great time making new contacts in the local film scene and working with Dan & Trish on both the Duo and OA series projects.

Tune in next time when I discover yet another long lost file box full of memories... and throw half of them in the recycle bin.

Eleven Eleven

When we were at Jamie's cocktail party, Raechelle and I found ourselves tending bar and having a great conversation with several of Jamie's friends. And someone asked how Rae and I met, which led to that story, which led to other stories, and somehow the Fire Story came out. I'm used to the shocked and sympathetic looks when the Fire Story is told. It's a compelling story. But it usually comes as the footnote to my lost-my-wife-lost-my-dad-lost-my-home-all-in-one-year story, and by the time we get to the fire part, folks are shaking their heads in complete bewilderment in terms of how to relate to an experience that is fundamentally impossible to relate to.

But what both Rae and I noticed is that the very last story to be told on this occasion was the Widower's Tale. It had become the footnote, not the lead. She said the next day that something had changed, that I was no longer defined by the tragedy of my circumstances. I had known that for the past few months (and had felt it since before I stopped posting on Rhymes With Drowning), but it felt good to hear my girlfriend say it.

And it's true. Things are on the upswing. I'm more than the sum of my tragedy.

But there are still some days when you remember, and you feel sad, and that's okay. Today is one of those days. It's a day of remembering a moment 24 years ago when two kids kissed in a driveway and kicked off a life together. It's okay to look back on those memories and get a bit misty. It's okay to take a moment or three of reflection. It's okay to mourn what was lost.

Because the tragedy is not you. It's okay not to dwell in the dark places. It's okay to count blessings and be happy for all the things going right in your life. And it's okay to feel comfort when the woman who calls you her man wraps her arms around you and kisses you, because she understands difficult anniversaries.

My Dad, My Past

I was sorting through terabytes of data on several external hard drives today, and ran across a few things. The first was a collection of videos from the Black Pelican Halloween theme mystery parties we hosted in the late '80s and early '90s. I was shocked at how different I was back then. Not just different looking, but different in attitude and bearing. I was naive and self-absorbed, perhaps normally so for an artist in his twenties, happily engaged/married without the responsibility of children, and able to drink with impunity. We were a happy little incestuous clan, intellectuals and artists and performers. Much like Lord Byron and his entourage in the early 1800s, only without the rock-star prestige and social scandal.

The second was my dad's memorial video I made for him shortly after his death. My copy of the DVD burned in the fire, and I didn't know that the raw video files survived. I watched until it was too painful, and was again struck by how much Tyler looks like him (especially now, at 14). It left me feeling very melancholy and wanting to talk to my pop, especially in light of all the wonderful things going on in my life.

Happy Birthday Matt

My brother Matthew would be turning 38 today.

Since the passing of my dad, my mom and I are now the only members of his immediate family unit remaining who were here when he was.

Big hugs, Mom. I love you.