Career Changes

Yesterday I worked like MAD on CM's website. Five hours and I finally ironed out all the mistakes and problems with the navigation. Holy crap was that a mess. My big fear now is that everything will break when we go to give it to the high school for their history department site and I'll have to fix everything again. Dreamweaver has been doing all kinds of crazy crap lately on me -- coding links to point to my C drive, to the root directory of the college site when I don't WANT them linked there. I was very frustrated yesterday, and now that things look fixed, I don't feel better... I'm nervous.

He just sent me a boat load more content, so I have a ton of work to do today. I haven't called catering man to see if he needs me this week and to be honest -- I'd rather not work for him with all this webstuff in my bag. I'll call him tonight, I can probably work for him Friday.

I also have a lot of work to do on MF's site, this week and the next four weeks are lacking content and need some sprucing up in a big way. I also have to find out from the students if they don't know how to create a powerpoint presentation, and make myself available to them to teach them, because their final projects are 50% of their grade and I want to make sure they know what they are doing. I will reserve the lab down at the college some night if they want me to. So much to do.

I extended my unemployment 13 weeks, which is nice but I'd like to not be on unemployment anymore and have some kind of real income.

Last night I got a phone call from an old friend. The woman Doug and I worked with to buy this house, S, is a buyer's broker. We've kept in contact over the last 6 years, but hadn't talked for about a year. She just had a new baby, and was calling to let us know the life update for her and her husband (who, by the by, is a contractor and has done a load of work on our house).

We were chatting about me getting laid off and not working full time, and she told me I should look into getting a real estate license and coming to work for her.

Now, normally, I'd cringe at the thought of being a real estate agent. But a buyer's broker is something totally different than a real estate agent.

Real estate agents work for the seller, want the house to sell for absolutely the most money so they can make the biggest slice of pie, and have little care about what a buyer wants. Our personal experience with real estate agents was pretty negative until we met S.

A buyer's broker works for the buyer and does things that the real estate agent will not do. For instance, S went to a planning board meeting on our behalf when we were trying to buy this house and there was a problem with the property line. The listing broker for the house didn't give a crap, and certainly the seller didn't want to put that much effort in. S knew that unless we went before the planning board, unless SOMEone went before the planning board, the house would never get sold, or in our case bought...

We never would have gotten this house if she hadn't been on our side. The same goes for the real estate agent who listed and sold the house next door to us twice in the last six years. She was a bonehead, and I just can't get into why.

Buyer's brokers don't make a lot of money off the sale -- they have to split the commission with the listing broker, so real estate agents hate buyer's brokers because they do no work whatsoever to show the house and only get half the money. They feel ripped off for doing no work. But last year, S worked six months and made over 50,000. She told me that in this market working part time and doing something else part time (in her case, parenting) she's still making money. But it isn't about the money per se. It is more about doing something fun and challenging.

She said that her job changes every day, with every client, kind of like doing web design... and that's what keeps it fresh and interesting. So that appeals to me greatly. She's made great friends with people and has kept in contact with people like us. The office where she works is going to be losing an assistant broker soon because the woman just found out she's pregnant with twins (sound familiar, Chad?) and will be going on bed rest at 20 weeks. So the timing could be perfect if I wanted to step into it. I'd have to take a weekend class, and then a test, and pay for a license.

With houses selling around here for $400,000, 2 to 4 percent of that is pretty nice. I may just have to look further into this.

---

I got a nice email from a college friend who said:

"I did celebrate Samhain as I have for many years.. I would like to you to know I remembered Clayton not only for You but for me, he always made me laugh and that is something I need to do more often.

"As I threw the corn into the fire.. " I honor you Clayton, for your gift of Laughter.""

And that made me feel pretty good. Knowing that someone actually read what I said, didn't get mad that as a Christian I'm wishing people a happy Samhain (honestly, I fear people who read this journal sometimes. If they are from my college past and are all hyper-evangelistic, they now think I'm going straight to hell because I'm tolerant of other beliefs, read homosexual blogs, I swear and had a heroin-addicted friend). But the person above who emailed me went to my same Christian college and she herself celebrates the ancients. Good for her. I honestly believe -- good for anyone who celebrates their faith in nonviolent, non-oppressive ways. May I continue to celebrate my faith in Father, Son, Holy Spirit in a way that may inspire others when they've been scared by the overtly zealous in the past.

Anyway -- I just thought I'd share that little email from J. Thank you J. You rule.

---

What else -- ah yes, today being election day I will simply encourage readers to do one thing today -- go and vote. I don't care who you vote for -- go vote.

We live in a society filled with the "I don't give a shit"ness types who don't go out and vote but continually complain when politicians aren't doing the right thing or their taxes get raised or proposition 2 1/2 overrides do or don't get passed.

You cannot complain if you don't participate. As Homer Simpson says, "Don't blame ME, I voted for Kodos."

I don't care WHO you are or what you think -- if you do not take an active role in picking your world leaders, from local representatives to the president -- I don't want to hear your whining.

The Onion recently had a funny article about a guy who votes in EVERY election. His coworkers think he has a problem. He thinks it is his civic duty and an honor as a free citizen to vote in everything, from electing the town dog catcher to electing the governor. It was a very funny article, poking fun at overtly active voters but also poking fun at people who think voting is a waste of time. Unfortunately, it isn't archived on the web, but trust me -- as usual The Onion hit the nail on the head.

Alright. This entry has taken me a long time. I'm going to get showered, go vote, eat food, and sit back and watch who ends up being my governor tonight in probably the too closest to call election in this state since Bill Weld got elected. Go vote, damnit. And have a great day.

A Lady Named Ada...

I'm working on the catering man's site.

I'm very very close to being done. And I can put this sucker to bed, get paid, and finish the dart people. Whew. It's been a long month or so. I thought this morning that I may have screwed up my unemployment. I was supposed to mail in my time sheet chit thingie into their office on Friday of last week, the day of the funeral, and didn't realize I'd forgotten to do so until Monday afternoon.

So I called my representative, a kick-ass, awesome Latina named Ada, who laughs at the drop of a hat and thinks my kids are a riot (they're usually up my butt when I call her, so she laughs and laughs at how cute they sound).

I informed her that I thought I screwed myself up by mailing in the time card late, she looked me up and said they got it and the check is being processed. I told her normally by now I have already received my time card for this week and next week, she said I should get it today.

I told her I love her.

She laughed and said "you know sweetie, I need more people like you in my day!" I told her I need more people like her, who don't treat me like I'm an idiot when I am an idiot, so perhaps we need to start our own company called "More People Like You Enterprises," and make the world a happy place.

Man, she thought that was just the funniest.

I love Ada.

Anyway. I got on the PC at 8:15am right after Jessie left for the bus, and I'm just doing this journal entry and I'm done over here. It is 11am. I am waiting on a couple small things from Cateringman and the site is done. Bonnie's husband helped me with a wicked nice web mail form action thingie, so the site auto returns a cool thank you email, and all sorts of shit. So I'm stoked.

All this for five hundred clams.

I'm working for the cheap.

I wanted to do him a favor because they did me a favor by hiring me to do catering stuff with little experience, so I feel it is worth it.

It's not a bad day, so my lament from yesterday about the rain has been answered by sunshine. It's chilly though. Geoff got to play outside, which he so needed to. The 50 degree temperature reading on my deck thermometer is a lie. It feels like 30. Jessica insisted her sweatshirt was warm enough. Ha.

My feet are freezing, so I have on my favorite Bubbles Slippers. (cue PPG theme song as the day and my toes are saved). I also have these cool Homer Simpson Slippers, but one of them is hiding from me, so I have to wear these. They are perfect, just warm enough, and not at all big. Just like nice socks.

We spent about an hour at the Saturn dealership yesterday. Discovered we have two bent rims. The tune is $280 bucks. Stupid road in northern Maine, bending my rims with its retarded potholes! I told Doug I had them replaced and he was pissed, because at about 13,000 miles we had the front two rims replaced because they were bent. He's never in his life had a car with shoddier rims, so he thinks I should write a bitch-gram to General Motors to whine about their sub-standard rimmage.

Sure, why not. If it gets me some sort of discount on something in the future, I'll whine.

We did hit that hole wicked hard though. Michelle will agree. I was surprised it didn't disable the car... so I don't feel like bitching too much. I'd rather bitch at the town in Maine and see if their town hall will reimburse me for part or all of the cost. Some towns do.

We have a surprise birthday party to go to tonight for a friend who may or may not be reading this at some point, so I'll not mention it. Suffice to say, the digital camera is coming. It's at a seafood restaurant, and I'm simply jonesing for some scallops! So, woo hoo! Tomorrow afternoon the company I used to work or in Marblehead is having a reunion as they do their final shut down. I'm looking forward to that, seeing some old friends I have totally lost track of, people I adored but once I left seem to have forgotten and they've forgotten me. Again, digicam is coming. I've kept in very close contact

Gotta go back to the Saturn dealership to get the car aligned, which they didn't have time for yesterday due to my need to split by 3:30 to get home to meet Jessica's bus. I don't mind her being home for a few minutes, but I didn't want her home alone for over an hour. I'm such the good mom.

I got email today from my friend's long-ago college girlfriend who is still processing a lot of her thoughts and feelings about his death.

She was so sweet and all I wanted to do was just hug her. She told me she actually works with teenagers who are having drug problems, working through their addictions. She yelled at them, told them that they are going to end up in the same boat as he did. Felt that somehow he was speaking through her to them..

I'm totally amazed at how life paths wander, change... how she ended up on that end of the spectrum, and he on the other. I think I could write a book about the two of them, and life. But I'd break my own heart. And hers. And other people's.

I also thought it was so funny to look at my inbox this morning and have an email from her, and an email from the girl he loved who sort of introduced him to the heroin life, not by having him use but by having him fall in love with her... side by side on the list. I am the bridge between both worlds.

Sometimes people get to have visits from those they have recently lost. Shelleyness talks about how her grandmother visited her M., and how she dreamed of her mom's Dickie... both entries are really moving from a spiritual standpoint, and part of me longs for that kind of a communication with my friend. Which is why watching the Sixth Sense was so bad for me. I want to be able to have that one more I Love You, that one more "did you know that I wanted to help you more than anything but you didn't want me to?" kind of thing. I want to know he's fine. I trust he is, I believe he is, but KNOWING would be so nice. I would never go to a psychic, or to that TV scheister who allegedly communicates with people on The Other Side. It would have to be just because. And I'd welcome that. I doubt it would ever happen though.

I actually think, don't laugh, that he's communicated with me through the radio stations as I scan them. When I can hit buttons and hear all of his songs, at any one given point, perhaps that's insane of me to even think... but music was his medium of communication in life. Why wouldn't it be in death.

Anyway. I have to shower so I can go back to the dealership. This entry has been brought to you by the rambling freestyle thoughts of an overtly caffeinated mom, first thing in the morning, and Spongebob. And slippers.

Triceratops Central

I had forgotten to mention that the night before the funeral there was snow. I thought it was funny in a bizarre sense. Not really funny funny, like Ha Ha funny... more like creepy funny.

I mean, it took all winter for there to be any snow. Winter ends, and we get snow. To go to his funeral in 8 inches of snow, I think he'd be laughing at us. We only got about 2 inches, and it was pretty much gone by the time we got to the funeral. But it was odd nonetheless.

Not much to report really...

Doug took all the clothing to the Salvation Army yesterday. He was on a mission. He has had a hard time dealing with this, and his hurried and was rather brusque while getting the items out of the house. It is just him trying to deal, he's not being an asshole. I was rather slow and pokey in going through what remained... and he got snippy with me. I got defensive. When I'm down, I'm slow. And yesterday I guess I was too slow. So we griped at one another for a while, and he and I both apologized and I sped up and he got less snippy. It worked out rather nicely in the end. We went out to lunch at the tavern in Georgetown, had a beer and a burger. Geoff was charming to the waitress.

I kept two flannel shirts of his, one of which he outgrew in 1999, the other of which I never got the chance to see him wearing. They're both nice, and warm... and I'll think of him every time I wear them. Doug retained his leather jacket, which is too big for him, but still looks nice on him.

He asked me "Do I look like the Mack Daddy of Merrimack Valley in this thing?"

Yes Doug, you do, and it's giving mad props to the man who left it behind.

We've only got the CDs, Magic cards and books left. Doug will do some research on the Magic cards to make sure we get a good deal on them. They are entire sets from the beginning. They look really nice... I wish I'd learned how to play Magic.

I said the other day that having no regrets is a nice thing. I guess I have only one. I wish I'd learned to play guitar or bass while I had him here. We would have made a kick ass ensemble. But for me, the desire to jam with was outweighed by the desire to just listen. I'll always have that.

---

Getting back to life is going slowly.

I forgot Jessica had a field trip today to Olde Sturbridge Village or some crap like that. She reminded me last night. Oy. She also didn't do her book report which was due yesterday, so she hurriedly finished it last night.

I was angry with her because she knew it was due... but on the other hand, I know that the last Monday of every month is book report day, and so I dropped the reminder ball.

I've been rather forgetful. We have bills that were due yesterday, and some due in the next 2 days, that I hadn't written the checks out for, so I hurriedly did that while she hurriedly did her report.

She had to be up to the school at 7:15 this morning to meet the class and go on the bus. I got her there in time after stopping for a pop-tart and Gatorade and snack for her lunchbag at the local Kwikiemart. Doug didn't look like he was going to go to work again today... he was slow to rise, slow to decide whether or not, and slow to ready, but he got out the door only 10 minutes late and I'm proud of him. He is taking this all extra hard. And there's nothing I can do but be nice. He just called, found out he has a meeting this afternoon that will run until 5:30 so he's kind of pissed and whiny. Nothing I could do but be nice.

I'm on the verge of pissing people off by not meeting my web design obligations. I have to find a good e-commerce host for the dart people and do a ton of work for the catering guys, so I have to get snapping. It's been so hard for me to focus. When I sit down here, I just stare at the PC. I actually got sick to my stomach last night when trying to research e-commerce sites, so I walked away. Tonight I have to nail that down. And I have to spend time today doing cateringman's stuff. I'm glad it finally stopped raining. Perhaps Geoff can play outside or with the neighbor girls while I work. I have to buckle down and concentrate.

I promised Geoff we'd run errands today. Don't ask. He loves errands. We have to go to the market, and pick up a prescription for me and for the dog, and I have film to be developed, so there are plenty of errands to do. I just don't feel like it just yet. I want to go back to bed or just sit and watch tv. I could use another day of nothing. But that would make me feel like I want another day of nothing. I want to call his sister and say hi and see how she is. Pick a time for that dinner in the city she wants to make for us.

Oh, and watching "The Sixth Sense" the other night was a BIGassed mistake, I should add.

I cried and cried my ass off at the end. I love Haley Joel Osment, and he is so good in this movie as the "I see dead people" kid. The whole character evolution, how sweet and lovely he is. It reminds me why I need to rail about A.I. (Dave B. said I didn't get the ending but oh I did. It sucked)... but I'll do that another day. The movie also takes place in Philly, and I remember watching it with him and having him point out all the places he'd been, and how this place and that place were so cool. So seeing them all again just made me cry. I tortured myself, it is true. I didn't have to watch, but it is such a good movie. If you've never seen it, I highly recommend it. Wonderful twist at the end... I didn't see it coming.

---

Geoff has been in nerdy little boy heaven with all of CAL's Triceratops figures... what's left of the original collection that he had.

He'd gone through a phase where he collected Triceratops related items. Why? Good question. We never figured it out. He did a website on "The Mighty Triceratops" which has vanished due to Geocities being dopes, and his IM id was MightyTrike, or MyTTrike... depending on which he wanted to use.

Triceratops was his favorite dinosaur, as if one needed to pick one, because it was the only one that could stand up to T-Rex and win. Plus, he said he was built like a Triceratops. Big and slow and smart. So he was into it.

A little too into it I might add. We'd talked a lot about how he had an addictive personality... if it wasn't fantasy baseball, or Magic, or D&D, it was the Triceratops... and then other things.

Geoff is oblivious to what people are going through right now, and I'm glad he is. He is so over emotional about stuff at times, so I think if he were 10 and dealing with losing his big buddy, he wouldn't do well.

He's happy to have the Triceratops, and asks about Ivy and how she's doing because she was sad when she was at our house this weekend, and he wants to see her again and give her a painting.

Jessica is dealing well, but it has been so long since she has really spent time with him that the impact on her is a lot less than what one might think. The important lesson here for her is the drug lesson... what happens to people when they slip into addiction is very serious. And it leaves quite a mess behind. So her eyes are open... her understanding is clear. I'm glad she's my kid. She's amazing to me.

There are a friggin ton of Triceratops (Triceratopses? Triceratae?) in my house right now and it is making me laugh.

Well, I'm going to save this and post it. I'm going to eat breakfast. Geoff's watching Bob the Builder, and we need to get going.

Time to live. Time to run errands.

Walk On, Walk On...

And if the darkness is to keep us apart
And if the daylight feels like it's a long way off
And if your glass heart should crack
And for a second you turn back Oh no, be strong
Oh, Oh Walk on, Walk on
What you got, they can't steal it
No, they can't even feel it
Walk on, Walk on
Stay safe tonight
...
And I know it aches
How your heart, it breaks
You can only take so much
Walk on
Walk on

Thanks, Bono

He had in his possession every single U2 CD, single CD release, every EP, he has them all. They are in my living room. He wrote in his journal that their music gave him such joy. Throughout our friendship, they were integral, a cornerstone. We saw them together.

I'm keeping them.

---

The funeral went as well as funerals can go. His mom and sister asked us to join them at the funeral home for viewing. No one else was invited.

I can't even begin to talk about my thoughts and feelings upon seeing him there in a casket. It absolutely broke my heart to see his mom standing there running her fingers along his hairline above his ear the way mommies do to their little boys when they talk to them. I cried and cried and shit I'm starting to cry right now.

The tie I picked out looked great with the shirt that I brought. I thought they'd clash. But they looked fine. I was relieved. I forgot to bring the guitar to the graveside. I kicked myself for that -- I was so busy trying to get the program that I'd made printed that I braincramped and didn't realize until we'd gotten all the way to Beverly. By then, there was no time to turn around and go back. Mom and sis were so kind to ask us to come be with before hand. He didn't want a big funeral with public viewing. This would have broken so many hearts. It would have been devistating for people to see.

I'm glad people were spared that.

The funeral was well attended. I had hoped 200 people would come, but about 50 or 60 were there. People from the old gang at college, people from the college where we worked. People from the YMCA. It was a good mix of each of the three big circles that he swam in. The only circle not represented was the heroin circle. There were a few people I knew who would have been deserving to be there -- but his mom is really upset and didn't want to have them there. I can't say as I blame her in any way... I spoke to one of them and told her that they should go after.

I felt bad -- it isn't bad enough that they are shunned by their own family sometime, but a few of them were actually saved by his efforts. And they deserve to mourn too. So I told the woman I talked to that I'd go with her if she wanted.

I kind of feel like we're a bridge between two universes, Doug and I. It makes me so sad.

Meh. I weep. It's hard to really express what I feel.

The "program" came out very nice. The desktop publisher at Staples was super cool and helpful... and impressed with my work. I had to laugh. When he realized what it was he was kind of heartbroken and went out of his way to do it quickly so I could get home and ready.

After all that time I spent looking for the picture from when he lived with Gregg in Wilson hall, I gave up and used the one Naomi had scanned for me. Smitty called me last night and told me "I have this great picture of him playing his guitar in that room he lived in with Gregg..."

No. You're kidding me.

"Is he wearing a black t-shirt?"

"Yeah, I think it's a banana republic shirt."

He took the picture, not me or Gregg, but we each had a copy of it at some point... So Smitty has the original. I had no idea. So he's sending it to me. I know some people who want a copy of that... us chiefly among them.

I was on autopilot when I made the thing, and put the journal entry he had that I put here into the program. It didn't occur to me until AFTER Charles read it out loud that there were people there who didn't know about his drug use.

Oh my God, I'm such a friggin' IDIOT!

And it didn't occur to me that it might hurt his mom to hear, even though his openness with his own salvation and redemption was so clear. What the hell was I thinking! She didn't say anything when she read it. She was stunned I think.

And I'm kicking myself and kicking myself for not thinking. I thought the entry was so perfect and so explanatory. I talked to Gregg about it, and he expressed that while I may feel like I betrayed his mom by putting that in there, perhaps my big error may just do some good? Truth sets people free.

I hope? I pray.

---

We went to the beer works afterwards to do the thing he'd always told me he wanted -- he wanted everyone to get together for a drink, play some pool, and lift a glass in a toast. I lead the toast and looked out over the group, just about everyone who was at the cemetary was at the beer works, and I know how much laughter he gave each of those people. And it made me want to scream that he wasn't there and start freaking out, but I kept my composure.

The beer works opened the pool tables and took the panel off that makes you have to pay for pool, so we could play free. The waitress was hella awesome. The whole staff took us in and treated us well. It was a very nice gathering.

A lot of laughter, and a lot of fun. I talked forever with Bonnie, and we talked about how we always know the other one is "right there" all the time even though we don't get together enough and how that is a huge mistake. In the last 9 years or so, since Jessie was born really, the opportunities to be together thinned out. I had a baby, she was the urban professional rocking out to her boyfriend's bands... I was in bed at 9.

She's got a baby now, and her life is changed. And I have a feeling there will be more time together. I'm glad we didn't lose each other in this period of time -- the way we lost this week. And we have the time to regroup, renew, say the I Love Yous that we know deep in our hearts but don't say outloud often enough. It was good to have that.

All the buddies were there, Brian, Ben and Dan, Michelle, Dave, Tam, Gregg and Karry and Abbadabba, all the kids from the college, Jason, Justin, Ben, Doug, Julian (the piano player), Holly his old girlfriend from College came, it was so good to see her and her baby ... the circle was completed.

I had a blast, and I so know he would have been so happy. I left there with joy in my heart. I think in the end, we did it right by him, did just what he told me he wanted us to do. So I'm not the major cock-up I think I am.

I've talked to and gotten email from a lot of people who have just sat down and are re-evaluating what they've been doing with their lives, similar to what Bon and I talked of after the funeral. I have heard a lot of quietly stunned people say things like "I've let go of everything I once held as important and what's it going to get me if I die suddenly without reconnecting with friends, or apologizing, or having dinner with my mom..." so if anything, this time of reflection and personal repentance has come on some friends.

Me too. I picked up the phone and called some people to say out loud "I love you so much, and am so thankful you are a part of my life."

The best talk was with my buddy Gregg, whom I've felt very disconnected from over the past couple of years even though we spent time together and worked together. I feel like we were going through the motions. That once there was this firey happy friendship and now we're both just too tired to put in the effort. So it was a very awesome talk... and I'm glad to have had it.

So go, pick up the phone. I bet there are a couple people you have kind of lost contact with who you have always wanted to say "you rock my world and I love you" to... aren't there?

Perhaps it is your mom. An old boyfriend or girlfriend and you just have to let them know you're doing well and you valued what you had together and love them still but with that ongoing kind of love, not the I want to jump your bones kind of love. Perhaps it is God that you need to talk to right now, you feel disconnected from the divine, from the sacred. If that connectivity is clear and solid, all your relationships benefit. Whomever it is that you are called to reconnect with -- Go. Now. Do it.

Having no regrets is a beautiful thing.

And once you do that, Walk On.

---

Mom and Sis came to go through all his belongings yesterday afternoon. They left all the clothing and asked if we'd take them to the salvation army.

They left books & CDs and Doug said he was going to take them to second hand stores and whatever money he gets we'll donate to the YMCA on his behalf. His sister cried, because that would have made him so happy -- to know what he had left would go to the kids.

He has a palm pilot and a gameboy advance that he told his sister "I want Jessica to have these," a few days before he died and she had no idea why he'd want to tell her that then. Perhaps he had an idea that he wasn't going to be here long. So she's going to have us down to her place and make us dinner, and give Jessie the things he wanted to give her that she currently has in her posession.

Today is pouring rain. Doug said today that the sky is crying, just like Stevie Ray's song. Gregg said to me on the phone that the first thing that crossed his mind when we lost CAL was the Stevie Ray connection... the fact he took time to clean himself up, and that perhaps while we don't understand why either of them had to die so young, that God figured hey, I'm taking my boys back before they can mess themselves up again. Before they have to go through that again. I love them enough to remove them from their vessels, and leave a legacy behind which will bring a smile to some faces.

"The sky is cryin. Can't you see the tears roll down the street?"

The Parable of the Lost Sheep

Thank you Leann. Thank you Don. Thank you for bringing her back to him. Thank you.

"What do you think? If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off? And if he finds it, I tell you the truth, he is happier about that one sheep than about the ninety-nine that did not wander off."
- Matthew 18:12-13

"The Parable of the Lost sheep is about [how] the sheperd [sic] would leave his 99 other sheep on the hill side to look for the one missing one, and how happy he is to find it. God feels the same way about us. Well, I'm the lost sheep and God has found me.I feel like God would be unhappy with me for using and relapsing, stealing and lying etc, but Jesus says that God is happy to have found me. That's pretty cool."
-CAL, 10-3-01

Snorlax

He reminded a lot of us of Snorlax. My kids thought it was really funny... and he went right along with the joke, and started to get into Snorlax...

He had sleep apnea, was a big guy, snored a lot. Funny thing about Snorlax though, if you know your Pokemon, is his defense is sleeping. He falls on opponents or yawns at them. He's grumpy. It's the dumbest pokemon ever, but... funny as hell.

He snored like a friggin' motor home trying to drive up the side of a mountain... sputtering, gagging, sawing and spewing. Noisy as hell. I remember Ben shared a room with him once at a conference and I forewarned Ben about the snoring. The next day I said to him "How'd ya sleep?" in a joking and knowing way, and just got the evil eye... the joking, knowing evil eye.

He also looked like Chef from South Park, especially when he work a red t-shirt. He would sing deep and low like Chef, and would lovingly refer to my children (not to their faces but to me) as "my little crackers."

There are so many funny, funny things about him that crack me up. So many funny memories that I've been wallowing in. Stuff I want to write about, stuff I don't ever want to forget.

---

Doug got all the belongings from his car.

We went through a lot of his stuff last night. Doug found his journal from rehab, a daily regimen the house residents were required to do. Six months of light, one-page entries with some humor and a few confessions sprinkled through, and it ends with him going off for his first interview at Brandeis with a tone in his writing that expressed he believed he wasn't going to get the job.

Based on his own self-doubt and self-loathing, and the mess he left behind at both the other academic institutions he worked for, perhaps he was right. It was difficult to read.

There was very little insight into what he wanted from his future... but lots of daily inventory of "today was a great day." I am mentioned only once, the day he came to get his guitar, and it is only in passing. He was happier that the weather was good than he was to spend a half hour with me. I was happier than I'd been in months to spend time with him, and floated on cloud 9 about it for days after it happened. He had other thoughts and priorities to keep straight in his day to day head.

He had lists of things in a small journal, apart from the home journal. There was a list of people he wanted to renew relationships with, I knew all of them. The two students from the college he worked with, Chad and Remi, and a girl named Sarah he knew from Philly who went to our college.

There was a full list of every song he could play on the guitar flawlessly from memory. The list made me burst into tears. So many of those songs I sang with him playing. He taped me singing "Crazy Love," so that I could sing harmony to it. I remember the look on his face the first time I sang along with the tape... his jaw dropped. I made him squeal when the song was over. It was flawless. I can see us, sitting in the bathroom in my apartment in Hamilton, MA in 1989 on a hot summer afternoon. Just like it was a week ago. Just like it was a million years ago. The bathroom was dark forest green with a large vanity counter top. The tape recorder sat across from me. He sat on the floor.

There are other items in his stuff, papers he was required to write as part of the rehab. They are interesting reading and shed more light on him where he was at that moment.

One paper listed out the things he was thankful for in the last five months. First on the list was me for getting him his first job in the field he loved -- computer repair. Further on the list was "the Geigers" for giving me the first apartment that I got to live in alone.

Perhaps that was the problem. He was alone for the first time, even though he never was really alone. There was no lock on the door between our apartment and his, and he was often over here. Perceived loneliness or abandonment... boredom. The sense that perhaps he was a pain in the ass when he came over to hang out. Sometimes he was... othertimes it was like college and was a blast to have him over to watch a movie. He spent a lot of time with Chad and Remi upstairs before they moved to the Carolinas, and then after they left, well, we lost him wholly.

Eventually he stopped coming over to see us, and his life with heroin began.

He never was a nuisance, he never was a pain in the ass. I think he was looking to spend more than just an hour or two after work with friends. He was looking for an all day friend, or something to help him forget he didn't have an all day friend. And he found the later. Whatever the case may be, I'm not going to sit here and analyze it any more.

---

The funeral is Friday. His sister wanted us to find his dress suit in the stuff we got. She'd bought it for him for his interview at Brandeis.

Along with the guitar, the suit is nowhere to be found, which perplexes her. She wonders what else of his stuff is among the missing and where he could have left it. I am hoping the guitar shows up, there are people who saw him in the past few days who may have some of his things. A friend of his said she was going to make some calls, see if he was anywhere with it with the people they both knew.

I am praying it turns up.

---

I got a great email from Chad. In part, he says this:

"There were countless afternoons that he would come upstairs after a crappy day of cleaning mouse cages at Charles River and we would play video games or Magic the Gathering. I couldn't tell you how many movies the 3 of us went to. I don't think I'll ever understand some of the decisions he made. Maybe he just got tired of being a third party and was lonely.

I remember how in one evening he learned how to play "Crash into Me" on the guitar.

I remember the night he set his apartment on fire because he put the rug over the heating duct.

I remember the countless hours put into the "Mighty Trike Homepage" and how he turned a couple of rookies into devious Magic playing fanatics.

I wish I had known him longer. Sometimes I feel as if I was born just a couple years too late.

I will never pass a YMCA without thinking about that man. Or sit through another sci-fi movie without thinking about what he would have liked about it and what he would have made fun of.

He always made me laugh.

And now I have to be sad and think about all the things he'll miss that he would have loved.

He won't get to see Spiderman or the rest of the Star Wars films. I'll never get his opinion on the next up and coming indie music artist. Like you, I have a hard time believing it. I'll still wait for a "ding" on the Internet one night and hope triceratops69 will be the sender. Even little things like that still crack me up.

So, when you have your little get together raise a glass to the guy for me because I don't drink. I wish I could drive up there and be with you guys to share these memories because then I could laugh through my tears with the other people who cared about him.

I have to say my life was a lot easier to take in stride because of his input. His perspective on things was astounding and I will never forget it."

Thank you Chad.

This was very sweet to get, and I plan on giving it to his family. I want to put together a little collection of memory things for his sister and mom, contacting friends to have them write out a little something for a collection. Say one nice thing about him please... but not immediately. I want to give a little time. I want a little distance. More perspective. Less crying.

The mess you leave behind...

They say to live life fast and leave a beautiful corpse. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die. There are also other things you should leave behind. Or not leave behind.

Leave behind a legacy that doesn't leave people angry, shaking their heads in confusion.

Leave behind family and friends who don't have to leave out the details of your life's ending because it is too painful or embarrassing for them, for your sake and the sake of your cherished memory.

Leave behind tears of joy when you go.

I don't care if your corpse is beautiful or not... no one will. Just make sure the circumstances and situation you leave behind don't add extra pain for those who are going to have to contend with it.

Right now I'm sitting in the wake of tears of joy, anger, screams and shouts.

I am sick to my stomach.

I've been fielding calls from people who have heard, people who don't understand. I'm trying to be helpful to his and his mom. I want to do more to help, because I feel as if I was a miserable failure when trying to help him when he was still here. And perhaps it will make me feel just a tad better.

I am kicking myself for not being there at the door to pick him up from rehab with an iron grip and piercing gaze, and a hug that says "I love you and want to see you make it this time, please please please be good..."

I'm mad as hell at him for telling me on the phone day after day in the last month "Yeah, everything is great! I'm out of rehab and doing super!" Because once again, the lies were easy to believe.

I talked to his sister today, she's trying to arrange to get the contents of his car from the place where the Beverly Police put it -- up in Lowell at the dealership where she got it for him.

We am going to help her get his things. I am waiting to hear back from her as to when we can go to get it.

I want it to be today.

I want to be done with these people from that phase of his life. I had as little to do with them as I could. I know them by name, by sight, and trust me when I confess to you that the first thing on my mind when I think of them is how can I inflict as fast and furious an injury upon them as possible.

But that wouldn't change anything.

My best friend is still dead.

All I want out of there is his guitar, and to see if he kept a journal like I told him he should... His sister wants his computer, because it is valuable monetarily and she doesn't want anyone to profit from his death, even if it is for a couple hundred bucks. I can't blame her at all.

I want to make sure that his mom has the guitar in the end, to do with what she wants. To save as that part of her son which through his good times and his bad times was always constant... Whatever sort of memorial we have, I will ask her for the guitar to have it sitting there unplayed and untouched on a guitar stand. Hopefully we can find it. Hopefully it hasn't vanished. It is such an important icon for me about him, that if it's lost I'll cry and cry. It will devastate me to no end. It's all anyone has left.

---

One of the funniest memories I have of him involves that guitar. He had taken my position as the helpdesk coordinator at the college when I became webmaster, and really loved working with the kids. He had a long history of youth oriented work with the YMCA and other camps, and working with kids, even college kids, was so important to him.

Work was sometimes no fun, so he decided with a couple other guys who played instruments that they should jam at lunchtime and have some fun. There was an abandoned piano in an empty part of the new building where we were stationed, so he and the kids wheeled it into the helpdesk area and up the stairs.

At lunch, one kid would play piano, he would jam on his guitar, and all they knew how to play was "Wonderwall" by Oasis.

The director of the department caught wind of the piano one day and marched up into the room. The piano was tucked up against the wall when it wasn't being played. At this particular moment, everyone was working. He was standing in the room talking to one of his employees, a student ready to go out into the field to do the thankless dirty work of fixing yet another broken computer on that campus.

The director was angry and pointed at the piano and said "What is THAT doing in here?"

CAL turned and looked, and as if seeing a big pile of jewels or something you wouldn't expect to see sitting in the shop, he yelled 'Ah!!!!! Where'd THAT come from!" with astonishment.

So much so that everyone in the room, except the director, cracked up. I mean, we were peeing laughing. And he was too.

But the director was furious. "Get that out of here..."

He and the kids didn't have the time to justify that it was there only to bring joy to the hearts of the "sled dogs" during their once a day lunch break. It was good while it lasted, but just one of many examples of what he had to deal with, and how his vision of work was different from that of the boss.

Guess who the kids respected more.

Guess who they loved more.

Guess who people miss when he's gone. Yup.

I just got off of the phone with one of the guys who worked for him, and he broke down in tears while we were talking. That kid is working at a major university in the Boston area doing help desk work. He learned so much from him. So much more than any liberal arts college or history professor or math teacher could ever teach him.

I hung up the phone and cried and cried. Oh my God. I can't believe he's dead. I am so sad. I am so sorry for this... I am so going to miss him.

And the thing that is pissing me off more than anything is the loss of potential. The what could have been. What should have been. There are so many people who SHOULD have for years to come enjoyed that kind of mentoring. That kind of friendship. This is so fucking unfair.

He changed lives while being someone's boss. He wasn't just someone's supervisor, the guy you go to and say "uh, whattaya want me to do now, boss?"

He was awesome and wonderful and caring. People wanted to know him. People wanted to work with him. He was so much better than people ever gave him credit for. He changed and helped so many people.

The thing I loved about him was he was all about business when it was time to be all about business. He took work seriously. He taught the kids. Worked beside them instead of supervising over them. He was above them but among them, in the trenches, not in meetings deciding how to incorrectly do things around campus.

But when it was time to just kick back, even a little, he wanted the opportunity to give people joy. And again, he was with them. Enjoying as much as he could with them.

The piano was just one example of how he wanted to make life at the college a more enjoyable place for the guys who busted their asses day in and day out for thankless end users and administrators and faculty who played political head games with one another and the department at the students' expense.

He wanted people to have a nice time. He always recognized that. And no one is having a nice time right now.

So, if your mission in life is to make sure people have a nice time, when you die, do me a big favor, wouldya? Make the circumstances less painful. Make it so they'll cry remembering how wonderful and super you were, recalling funny crap, instead of lamenting what could have been.

Make the loss be just that -- a loss of you, not a loss of you and what could have been in your future.

Don't leave your friends and family saying that it's a crying shame.

---

By the way, in his drug use, I wanted to make it clear that his heroin use was not via injection.

So if you knew him, don't picture him sitting in a room melting heroin on a spoon and tying off his arm to shoot up. He sniffed it. It's a lot more expensive that way. Always, always the more difficult path for him.

He hated needles. And when he got into this I shook my head and told him that he's the only one in the whole big circle of friends he was making who was a sissy. I didn't want to challenge him to shoot up, I just wanted him to realize he was such a nancy and that perhaps this scene was not for him.

He laughed, and he shrugged and admitted it. He was a nancy when it came to pain. I just shook my head and told him that he had to stop doing this to himself. He stopped laughing, bit back tears, and nodded. "Yeah. I will."

He's Gone.

This is not the kind of thing I intended to write today. I wanted to rail about how much the ending of A.I. sucked. I wanted to tell you about our adventures Down East. But we got a phonecall last night that wasn't entirely unanticipated, but no fun to get just the same. And here I'm faced with reflecting on a life that shouldn't have been cut short.

A life belonging to a person whom I loved with all my heart.

I've mentioned him here before. I never talked too much about his situation specifically, because I held his confidence as sacred.

He was open about his attempts to kick heroin, even going as far as to just give everything up that he had, job, home, everything -- to go into a six month hardcore treatment program. And I never wanted it to be that just because he was open I'd be open. It wasn't my fight or my experience.

So in the background of my life, in the corner of my mind, a constant thought was held of of him. A constant prayer vigil. A constant knot in my stomach wondering when he was going to call me next... and now he isn't.

He died yesterday afternoon in Beverly Hospital. He was 34.

He got out of rehab on or about March 28. He was interviewing for jobs. I sent a letter of recommendation to Brandeis University for a job there in the IT department. He was working at a Mailboxes Etc... to make money while in the rehab and just couldn't wait until he could get back into academic computing. He met David Mamet while working at the MBE and had great discussions with him, after all, He was an English major in college and knew his theatre and movies cold.

He moved into a sober house right after rehab. He was supposed to come to my house yesterday afternoon and get that car we'd taken into holding for him while he went to take care of himself.

He had a cardiac arrest at some point while working on his car. They couldn't revive him.

That's all the detail I really know. We got a call from his sister about 8:30 p.m... I wish I knew more.

But I do know this:

He introduced me to my husband. He overslept my wedding. He used to bounce checks when he ordered bacon pizzas from Beverly Pizza parlors. He took my daughter to camp for free. He could beat anyone at "Six Degrees to Kevin Bacon..." we'd play it just driving down the street. I'd throw two actors at him and he'd connect them immediately, usually through "Tombstone," and we'd crack up laughing.

He had an infectious laugh. His whole body shook. He would cover his mouth and giggle like a girl just to crack me up. He was embarassed by his teeth, but that never stopped him from cutting loose and laughing hard. He was one of the most generous and helpful people I've ever known, but that always got him into situations where he was taken advantage of, either in work, friendship or in relationships. He always got handed the shitty end of the deal.

He loved to play stratomatic baseball, dungeons and dragons, guitar, and Magic, the gathering. While incredibly talented on the guitar, he couldn't sing to save his life, so I would sing for him while he played, and it would always make me happy... He introduced me to "Homicide: Life on the Streets," Ani DiFranco, Indigo Girls, MP3 storage and ripping. He was incredibly kind and loving to our children.

He is dead.

I am surrounded by what's left of his personal property. A car full of stuff, things in my basement... things that he never took out of the house when we told him to move out in 1999 which are in this room, my garage, my daughter's bedroom closet. A couple crates of comic books. A Rocky Horror Picture Show poster. His college ID which he left on the floor and I'm going to keep forever... I'd always said I would. All weekend my daughter wore a nice red knit sweater that he'd "outgrown" while living here. He gave it to me and I "outgrew" it too. It looks nice on Jessie. I had sewn the hole in the shoulder... and I thought of him every time I looked at her in it. How he would have laughed that she fit in it and he once did.

There are so many funny funny stories.

He was the most peculiar guy I've ever know. Liked the weirdest stuff. Got bored one day and tried heroin. End of conversation.

I feel like there should have been more we could do to help him. I think we did just enough, but couldn't do more because we were so removed from the reality he was choosing for himself. There was nothing we could do, but we did what we could.

I can't think of anything else to say. I feel like throwing up. I am still in the process of, well, processing what just happened. I'll write more later.

Joy will find a way