I was sitting at my desk today, trying to write something, anything, and coming up with what seemed like ten thousand starts and ten thousands pieces that went nowhere. If I had been writing by hand, the garbage can would have been full of crinkled up paper balls of frustration. At some point, my fingers slowed to a halt and rested themselves gently on top of the smooth, worn keys. It's insanely cold out today and for some reason, the world seems a little quieter on days like this and for a few moments I sat listening to the silence, and then you came to me. I settled into this place for a while and tried to let other thoughts come to me, tried to let ideas spring to my fingertips so that I could produce something, anything of remote value but just like the many other times I sit down to write about the world, my mind insisted on racing wildly in thoughts of the past, thoughts of you.

Sometimes I think about the last Thanksgiving we shared together, the one where you made salmon for yourself and a turkey for Oliver and I even though you had recently decided to become a vegetarian. I found myself thinking about this today. I loved that little carriage house you were renting with it's exposed wood beams and wall to wall, waist to ceiling height windows in the kitchen looking out over your glorious garden. Isn't it funny how I can remember sitting at that old dining room table of grandpas with you and Oliver like it was yesterday yet can't even seem to remember my own name half the time these days. God that house was so cosy and warm and I remember I would always pick one end of the couch and curl up with that blue and purple striped fleece blanket of yours. I would sit snuggled up for what would seem like hours doing absolutely nothing and not be bored. Occasionally we would chat about this or that, and occasionally I would rouse myself up for a game of scrabble or some of your homemade apple pie, but I would also spend a lot of my time visiting you settling in to silence. I miss this. I miss your company and your voice and your words and your wisdom and your love more than I've ever missed anything in my life, but I also miss your silent presence; the way I could be with you for hours and days and not have to say a single word if I didn't feel like it. I miss you telling me from a small age that I saw the world in a way that was quite different from a lot of people and that I had an artist's eye. I miss you understanding that my vision is one of peace and love for the world and not of simple naivete like so people have and continue to accuse me of. I miss your shared belief in the universal salvation of all souls; the belief in the goodness and godliness of people.



And so these are the things I was thinking earlier today as my fingers came to a slow stop and I sat quitely listening, looking at the things in the room around me. On the shelf to my left, your father's record collection. And on the floor beside me, family photo albums chronicling a family intact, years of happiness and wholeness; time's long since gone now. I looked up onto the shelves in front of me and saw the birdhouse you painted and used as a mailbox at the house on Tillamook street. I saw the linoleum block print of of your face that you made when you did a sort of Andy-Wharhol-eske art project with your students. And I saw your old phone book, the black one that looks like an old rotary dail on the front.

It's so cold here today that they, whoever they are, are saying that it's supposed to get down to fifteen degrees tonight. Fifteen degrees! I can't ever remember it being this cold here. It reminds me the stories you told me once about when you and dad lived in an apartment in college with no furniture and no heat. How you went to a wood shop class at the local community college where other students where making mailboxes and bird feeders and how you and dad made a couch! How Grandma Lau came to visit you and being unable to snuggle up on the blanket that you guys studied under to keep warm, bought you a space heater. I remember you telling me how your one luxury during those years was buying a newspaper and a coffee and doughnut to share every Sunday. I've never known a life like this and so in this way, my life and yours were/are quite different... except for the fact that you saw the world in the same way I do, with an artist's eye. Save for the fact that we shared a belief that the purpose of our existence was to leave the planet a better place than it was when we arrived on it. Save for the fact that life needn't be spoken of between us most of the time because their was always a common underlying set of shared beliefs and viewpoints and understandings. Save for the fact that you loved me more than I will probably ever comprehend and for the fact that I loved and adored and admired and respected you and still do. Save for the fact that you and I, we were family in every single sense of the word.

I know it's silly that I have this dumb little blog that nobody reads and that nine times out of ten, when I try to write something about the world, it always turns into something about you, something for you, something to you. I suppose this means I refuse to be done with you yet. You left me and this world quite suddently many years ago now, and I still can't seem to let you go completely. I'm sure I never will. So I sit at my desk swaddled in silence on cold winter days and write letters to you even though I know you aren't there and won't ever be there to read them... but yet and still, you are the one that my fingers always seem to end up typing about. You. You, you, you. For me, it will always and forever be a most blessed life thanks to a most amazing you.

A few things...

Apple pie. Copper sink. Curly hair. Flowers. Grapes on the vine. Swing sets. Green gate. Beagle. Piano. Grandma. Pottery. Stencil. Fingernails. Wood floors. Fireplace. Chocolate cake. Tea parties. Hats. Roller skating. Camping. Ocean. Sand. Rain. Fall. Painting. Kitchen cabinets. Driving. Friends. Soup dinner. Play readings. Wooden boats. Twirling. Compost. Quiet. Pesto. Salad dressing. Bagels. Salmon. Knitting. Drawing. Charcoal. Pen & ink. Mixed media. Watercolor. Washing machine. Bug. Waving. Scarves & hats. Kayak. Bridges. Mountains. Views. Snow. Sledding. Corn dog nuggets. Dusk. Crossword puzzle. Scrabble. Kosh. Arguments. Glass door. Wall of art. Sketching. Doodle. Cordless phone. Vaseline lotion. Vegetarianism. Small towns. Birdbath. Christmas lights. Rocking chairs. Front porch. Ice cream bowls. Books. Mystery. Masterpiece Theatre. Clue. Sorry. The Un-Game. Pistachio pudding. Old people. Grandpas. Choir. Claw foot bathtub. Volkswagen van. Road trip. Tijuana. Florida. California. Oaxaca. Beaverton. Grand Canyon. Four Corners. Seattle. Port Townsend. Fireworks. Christmas carols. Ocean. Mothers. Daughters. Families.

...that remind me of you...