Tonight's Movie

So, first off, “Starting Out In The Evening” was long and it was layered. Certainly, the core story, concerning an author (Leonard Schiller, played by Frank Langella) whose long creative snooze is almost interrupted by ambitious and somewhat manipulative graduate student Heather (Laura Ambrose) is interesting. But it's not that interesting.

Not helping is all of the window dressing going on. Creative death abounds. Schiller's daughter Ariel (Lili Taylor) is a former dancer who now teaches pilates and yoga, which she characterizes as, "what happens to dancers when they die."

Ariel's smashing her head up against a wall of stereotyped 40th birthday female angst and her "Oh, my god, my clock was ticking and I think it stopped" shenanigans provide the movie with more a hoped-for audience demographic than a plot element. Lame attempts to cast Langella's Schiller as disappointed non-grandparent aside, Ariel's newly rediscovered love for, then liberation from, then love for an emotionally distant man-child only serves to set up a punchy line or two between her and her father. Even the cross-racial window dressing is just that.

Ambrose's Heather does everything she can to wring something of quality for her thesis out of Schiller, whose lethargy and doubt in engaging her seem both fortuitous and wise, if boring and lifeless. But when he finally caves in and opens up a little, it comes off as something dirty, and Ambrose's Heather seals that deal for us on all counts. No distance off-camera is off enough in this case, and that is what we get.

When the writer becomes bored with his characters, as both the on-screen and the off-screen and, likely, the screenwriter did, there is a tendency to toss them into tragedy or crisis. Sitting there waiting for it as ham-fisted telegraphing paraded across the screen was excruciating. Foreshadowing my ass. There was a veritable total eclipse every quarter hour with partials on the half.

The end of the movie lingers over small details, which will appeal to the perfectionist whose obsession with endings and closure overrides all sense of boredom. Unfortunately, the "Is it happy?" finish that redirects the movie utterly serves less a delicate touch than a mercy killing that also drags on too long before the screen blackens.

But at least Ambrose was a redhead.

My rating (1-5): No.
Marcie's Probable Rating: "Sorry, honey. That was so bad."

This review does not reflect my gratitude to my coworker for sending me the pass from the Film Commission. Listening to the crowd around me was a hoot, too. Thanks, Elizabeth.

Movies With Marcie

One of the activities Marcie and I made it a rule to do together was see previews. The San Diego Film Commission often sent Marcie tickets to movies (via email) which were in pre-release screening. Sometimes feedback was needed; sometimes it was just an audience reaction observation opportunity for the studios.

When Marcie passed, I lost that source of free tickets with her email account. However, my coworker Elizabeth sends out copies of the same tickets to me, which is nice. So far, I have not been able to see any of them, but tonight I will try to make it to see “Starting Out In The Evening.”

It appears to be one that Marcie would have enjoyed tonight's selection. From the press release and ticket blast:

All that remains for Leonard Schiller (Frank Langella) is his work. His one enduring goal in life is to finish the novel he has been laboring on for almost a decade. With his four earlier books out of print, he has learned to starve himself of the desire for the success he was once so close to, though beneath this practice lives a pull for his work to be rediscovered.

Leonard’s main contact with the outside world is his daughter Ariel (Lili Taylor), a dancer-turned-Pilates instructor, with whom he has settled into an amiable relationship, though he must hide his disappointment that at thirty-nine she is at loose ends, still looking for love and a father for a longed-for child.

We’ll see if, sans guarantee, I am able to pull a seat. It’s at the Horton Plaza 14, for which I am grateful, since there is little parking for some of the others downtown. Marcie and I also had some mischievous moments in that theater… usually because we found ourselves more interesting in the dark than the drivel we often found there. At any rate, without that distraction, I shall endeavor to provide some useful feedback, as she did, later on.

At the least, the synopsis makes the movie sound like a relevant cautionary tale for me… we’ll see. More info later.

F.

Marcie's Little Qipao (Adult Situations)

In trying to stay upbeat for a few posts, it has occurred to me that I could share some of the fun... within reason. So, as I have alluded to before, Marcie and I had quite the sexual relationship. Come back tomorrow if you don't want ot hear about it. I won't get (too) graphic.

One of the things Marcie did for me that stood out was put up with my various passing fancies. I had a passing fancy for jumping her in while she was in her work clothes, so she put up with that for a year. I went through the stockings and garter phase, she loved that (or pretended to), did the merry widow lingerie thing, etc. etc.

One of those passing fancies that stood out was the cheongsam (or qipao). Marcie introduced me to this sexy Chinese dress with her all-night Gong Li movie events, remarking on how they fit the actress, testing to see if I thought Gong Li was pretty (I did, but she's not my type).

I was soon thinking Marcie would fit one even better, and started pestering her. I had all but given up after a few solid months mentioning it in the afterglow, at dinner, when we woke up and were cuddling in bed against the impending responsibilities of work. Basically, whenever it struck me I had not mentioned it.

Well, Marcie surprised me with her little qipao after a trip to Chinatown in San Francisco. She not only wore it for me, but she went through elaborate hair preparations, leaving her red locks in a chopstick-bun. She could have been quite the arm-candy at a social.

Alas, we never got to put it to use in a social setting. She wore it a few times for me and made the mistake of wearing it after we had been separated by a trip I took to school (5 weeks). The resultant ravishing was too much, and the zipper gave out (meaning became separated from the silk).

But her green-blue eyes really went well with it. Not having her to model it takes a lot away from the dress, but it's still a pretty reminder. I can't wait to ask Jane about that shopping trip when I visit later this month or early next year.

In Better Days We Had Animal Pals

In better days, Marcie and I would take walks around the neighborhood. Generally speaking, Marcie did this every day or other day and preferred to go alone, but it was not uncommon for me to go with her.

It was nice to hold hands, even as they turned sweaty and Marcie grew annoyed. It was also fun to stop and chat with our mutual animal pals, petting the dogs we knew wouldn't bite. Both of us also enjoyed being waylaid by attention-starved "outside" kitties, which invariably ate up a good five or ten minutes of our time.

Marcie drew the animals in. I had always been boastful of my charming ways with the furred set, but Marcie was so gentler and quiet, usually able to suppress her own versions of my sometimes boisterous outbursts of delight at spying some furred denizen of the neighborhood. Consequently, I have many of my neighborhood animal pals because of her and because I was with her when she won them over.

Tonight I took a little walk down the block and visited a few of them before dusk brought the cats' more private nocturnal urges and the dogs' more guarded natures to bear. I wanted to take a walk with Marcie, so I just retraced our meandering neighborhood route.

Each animal I met and pet opened a floodgate. Memories of visits from those better days, those sweaty-palmed, frumpy-comfy walks, washed over me as not one or two or even three, but six separate cats we both had known visited with me tonight. I also checked in on Fred the Bellowing Basset Hound, who bayed mournfully when I was done petting him and moved on. I "feel ya," brother Fred.

When I got home, I turned and looked down the alley I liked to walk home in. Marcie and I both enjoyed visiting with a huge clutch of cats, all feral, who live behind a TV repair shop there. I noted a stunning sky, and thought I would share a snapshot I ran in and got the camera for. It became a "Stunning sky with telephone poles" shot of the alley instead.

Alley of The Cats at Sunset

A Note of Thanks

Last Night, I was over at Tanya and Shawn Aeria's house for some delicious Mexican food. Way to cook, Tanya! The "meat" inside was actually Quorn, a mycoprotein product made from fungus and egg whites, which was DELICIOUS.

Marcie was totally in love with their son Dante, who does not understand that she is gone. He's a sweet kid, and that's likely because Tanya and Shawn are great parents who have a very good support system. He and his little brother Oliver will rule the school someday, mark my words. That, or they will be protectively home-schooled. Who knows?

Thank you, Shawn and Tanya, for that wonderful meal. Perhaps we should all get together with Walt and Lisa as you two mentioned, maybe time it around a visit from Jane, and throw a Marcie meal over at my place. If nothing so ambitious, I will at least feed you folks, just call and ask for your reservations at Chez Francois.

In addition to feeding me, they let me rant and rave in my own very Frank way, so extra points for putting up with it. You're both great sports and wonderful friends.

Love and gratitude,

Frank

Looking for Guest Writers

When I started this blog, I had hoped that people with specific memories or good times to share about Marcie might chip in. I know I have been a little heavy of late, so that's likely been a deterrent. I am about to start writing about some of the better times and moving forward with some more uplifting, funny moments from my and Marcie's life together.

If you would love to share something about Marcie and your relationship, please just email me with it. Click on the comment button under this post... my address is on the feedback page and I will post it. I will edit it for typos, but I will not edit content.

Let's start celebrating her life. I'll kick it off with a story (which will likely be inappropriate) tomorrow evening. I will also be adding more pictures :)

F.

Coping Kitty Quietly Communing

What a comfort Seamus has been to me in Marcie's absence. He's in my lap when needed, playful when he senses a little cheer might go over well, and just serene and quiet otherwise. He spends a lot of time near Marcie's shrine, and has been sleeping under it, as seen below. He was sleeping there a lot before the shrine was done, too... It's behind where her hospital bed was. I wonder...

Just a comfy spot to sleep or something more?

I know how lucky I am to have him here. A coworker lost both her cats in the last couple of months, one just the other day. Cats are friends who choose to stay with you because they deem you worthy of spoiling them. I can't believe Seamus will be 14 in March.

That little pad under him is one of the first things Marcie bought him. It's a heated pad from a catalog. I put it there when I saw him sleeping under her shrine often in the early evening and the morning on weekends.

Marcie's "little lamb" on his "little woolly lamb pad" (Marcie's words, not mine).

Incidentally, this picture was taken with a much better camera than the first, a Canon S5 IS, which I have procured for the trip. You can see a lot more detail when you blow it up, and can tell that the fountain is running by the reflection in the lip of the container.

Some Plan Progress

So, I have been working on book and article proposals in addition to a few other items. Unfortunately, it's slow going with every day spent at work and most people in the media businesses hard at work during the same hours. We'll see what comes of it all, if anything. I still have time.

I have sold one of our DVDs. The Bourne Files, the first two Bourne videos and a bonus DVD in a collector's edition kit, was shipped out yesterday. I also shipped out a package Marcie herself prepared with a relevant find or two she did not have set aside and ready to go.

I'll be picking up some spot work at my old newspaper over the Christmas holiday. I am probably looking at a few days of work and maybe an article or two. We'll see. It all goes into the kitty for the plan.

I am considering either taking the blog private (invitation-only) or promoting it heavily. One plan involves trying to get on "Hey Mom, I am on 91x," using my old connections there to do it and, shaping the whole thing around a time line of songs and artists, then spring boarding off of that if it proves popular with listeners.

The bonus there would be a podcast of my show if Steve West picks me, which I would put on memory sticks for people and post online (here). We'll see. If you have ideas, please email them via or use the comment/feedback function. Thanks, folks.

F.

The Memorial Book & Visiting Our Old Places

I am going to visit some of the places Marcie and I enjoyed together over the next few days and weeks and take pictures of them. My hope is to capture some images of her favorite places before they inevitably change and are no longer those places at all.

I will post galleries of that when I can. For now, I have a huge post to share. I have modified and corrected, then digitized and reprinted, Marcie's memorial book. I have decided to put it in a slide show for you all, which links to an album on the web.

I will actually be rescanning most of the pictures and redoing the typesetting, but I wanted to post this in its original form for people who never saw it. To read the pages you will need to click on them so that they enlarge. Enjoy, save, share, etcetera:

A Little Note to Marcie

I miss you, but it isn't all the time.

I miss you when there is nothing to distract me.
I miss you after work when I go home alone.
I miss you when I wait for sleep to claim me:
You always come to soothe me
You never seem to worry about the world
You only seem to want to make sure I am fine

I don't miss you when you tell me you're OK now.
I don't miss you when you say I'll be alright.
I miss you when I wake up and I realize:
You cannot make us coffee.
You don't worry that I won't get up for work.
You cannot keep me company when I awake.

I don't miss you when I am busy at my job.
I don't miss you when I am helping out my friends.
I miss you when I check my watch and remember:
You don't need me to call you.
You are not worried that I'm out late.
You'll not be there for me to love you when I'm home.

I don't miss you when I'm running in the canyons.
I don't miss you when I am playing in the surf.
I miss you when I turn to home and face that:
You cannot meet for dinner
You don't want to get out to go see a show
You cannot go with me on little getaways.

I do not know why I force myself to do this.
I do not know why I get up out of bed.
I do not want to wake up when the clock calls:
You cannot wake up with me,
I've forgotten that you're gone until I do
Remembering is another tinge of hurt.

I want to stay asleep and have you hold me.
I want the world to let me have some peace.
I try to reason that I have a purpose:
Finishing another day,
Finding sleep and dreaming of my love for you
Forgetting that another day must dawn.

Another song I think of her to

So one of my favorite singers from the 90s was Welshman David Gray, whose Lost Songs 95-98 and White Ladder were constant companions in the early days of the new century. He's made a greatest hits album, which I generally abhor, but this one came with a bonus.

This song, which debuted as a single November 5th, would have made a great song for Marcie and my anniversary date a week later. I was always looking for songs to dance with her to. I guess, for now, this will be one I just think of her to. That is, unless a little dinner and dance date is forthcoming in dreamland.

The World To Me - David Gray
Started talking and the line went dead
Never heard a single word you said

Babe I said I’d give my right arm,
Every day that I decide on

Baby baby you’re the world to me

I woke up, the room was cold
Looking tired, feeling old
Cursin’ all the changes I’ve to say
The more I cursed into the flood
The less it seemed do me good
Clearer became my mind than I could say
Baby baby you’re the world to me

My head is roaring like a waterfall
Give me everything or not at all
You don’t have to turn the sound up
Babe I want you from the ground up
Baby baby you’re the world to me

Baby baby you’re the world to me

Baby baby you’re the world to me
Baby baby you’re the world to me

You don’t have to turn the sound up
Babe I want you from the ground up
Baby baby you’re the world to me

Iridescent like a starling
Won’t you be my little darling
Baby baby you’re the world to me

Baby baby you’re the world to me
Baby baby you’re the world to me

The first time I heard it, I changed the channel at "went dead." The first few lines brought to mind Marcie's seizure, during which she screamed and dropped the phone. I found her passed out after rushing home. But I am glad I gave it another chance.

The links below point to the single and the album if you want to buy it for your MP3 players/Ipods. I can say that the greatest hits album is a pretty good collection, despite the fact that I generally avoid them.

Watching the Fountain with Marcie

I never thought I would settle down when I met Marcie. I was never one for multiple partners or anything so sordid as that, but I had always been serially monogamous.

I had one great love before Marcie, my first love, and that woman's transformation into a practical and calculating person with little but wants and wounds from what she was had taught me hard lessons. But I was not embittered, simply wary and less willing to put my heart on the line to any dangerous degree.

When I met Marcie, my plan was and had been to simply love who I could as I could for as long as I could. That changed soon enough. I do not think I had been with her a year before I was so besotted that I asked her to marry me, and meant it. She turned me down and said I should slow down.

As yesterday's poem reveals, she had a change of heart. I was unsure of the whole situation, but was glad she had come around. Six years later, that is.

The point of this is that I felt soon after I fell in love with Marcie that I had loved her for a very long time. This was something remarked on by Marcie as well. "I feel like we have been together for a lifetime, honey," she said. "I feel like I have known you since I was a little girl."

This phenomenon many of us have faced and some of us are privileged to experience it every day. The feeling is not limited to romance. Rescuers, Poets, and even Elvis have experienced the feeling. It must have some merit. I am susceptible to an willing to indulge that perhaps I have known Marcie for lifetimes.

Enter into this sentiment-cum-phenomenon the movie The Fountain. Taking place in three eras, it tells the tale of a man seeking to meet eternity with his love and to become one with both.

Marcie rented this from Netflix after having seen it in the theaters. It was a prelude to very difficult talks she wanted to have with me that I had avoided. I watched it with her. She cried and I joined her a little, but tried more to soothe her.

When the chemotherapy drugs and sleeping pills had finally sent her to sleep on my chest, both of us laying on the couch, I absorbed the meaning, the message Marcie was sending and the hope she wanted me to have in my despair. I held her there for a long time, but she awoke and I saw her to bed, holding her in the hot late summer night.

I have added the film to the list of items in my Amazon Store (Left column). Watch it with a loved on, especially if you have that special feeling, as we always did, of having known and loved them forever.

Marcie's laugh and another poem

A recent email about a particular part of Marcie we all loved (her sweet laugh) triggered a lot of good memories. Thank you, friend. A long time ago, I started writing Marcie a poem that wound its way through the stages of our relationship, including that first laugh. I shared it with her, but I intended it to be ongoing, and I would add to it over tiem

I lost it, unfortunately, but there is some hope. Marcie usually kept everything that I wrote to her, and I printed the poem several times. I found new pictures just this week, and I will find this poem somewhere as well, I suppose. For now, I have rewritten it, and I know at least some of it was true to the first version.

I also have decided to update it, and it will remain a work in progress.

In your thrall

I saw you in the castle square
when Amyrillis bloomed red.
You glanced at me and lingered there,
then finally spoke, and said,
"If you would speak to me then do,
but do not waste my ear.
For I have met many just like you,
and know your tricks, my dear."

I took you in, red hair, blue eyes
round hips and ivory skin
Hands on your hips, defiant guise
I saw your fire within.
"Is it a trick?" I asked you there,
"To gaze upon you thus?
Or do you hide some other care,
mayhap we could discuss?"

You flipped your pixie locks aside,
then harrumphed and walked away.
But a smile was on your lips, I spied,
and I saw a playful sway.
To have you then I set my mind
and sought you out each day
Until the stars were thus aligned
and Venus had her way.

You cast your spell with laughter's voice
I pursued you even more.
You played me well, I had no choice
but with ardor to adore.
I had my princess like a thief,
who sneaks through in the night.
Hid in your wardrobe, your relief
My stealth for your delight.

You christened me your cavalier.
and charged me when you toured,
to wait, be firm, to persevere.
You left, I stayed, endured.
You filled my ears with tales of lands,
of places you had been.
I only cared to fill my hands
with your fiery locks again.

When finally I heard the call
to journey north, to learn,
you went there first to found our hall,
and bring the hearth to burn.
Among the giants, in the cold,
you kept me warm but sighed.
Two winters passed and not a day,
not one more could you last.

So south again, where friend and kin
now awaited our return.
And autumn's eve, among the din,
I thought that I could discern
a sadness in my fairy love,
a frown upon your face.
I knew then what you fretted of,
embarrassment, disgrace.

You called me to the parapets
where sullied pennants waved.
You asked me as you waved your arm,
"Is it me who has been saved?
Am I to wait for you, my knight,
until I am too aged?
For you to marry me, despite
our seven years engaged?"

I pulled you close and as you cried,
gently reminded you
That I was he you once denied,
the chance to marry you.
"But if you now believe me worth
a year, a life, an age,
then I will bend my knee to earth
and end this long engage."

We flew, without our friends and kin,
to initiate new life
We swore ourselves and once again
I'd won, this time a wife
"I will not fail to honor you,
nor fail to hold your faith."
"And I will not abandon you,
to wander as you wait."

To family and firmament
we made our union known.
No challenge to our testament
our lives now shared, our own.
We went to battle, and to fair
unbeatable and strong.
My fiery heart, your fiery hair,
and nothing could go wrong.

Until one day as I averred
the wrongs of one corrupted,
your cries rang out and I deferred
my probing interrupted.
You said it was the mark of death,
but I could not believe.
For it was you, to every breath
my soul, my heart, did cleave.

So off again, this time to war,
you were scarred and then rebuilt.
When you flowered in hope once more,
your bloom began to wilt.
I carried you, watched over you
my life, my love, my queen.
And treasured every breath of you,
each day, each night, each scene.

I was your cavalier, my love,
I was your questing knight
but now I quest for remnants of
your red-haired, fairy light.
And though the ashes of our life
rain down around my head
I will not quit my geas, sweet wife
even if I am dead.

Technical Issues

Due to a camera that did not record what I needed it to, I will have to postpone sharing Marcie's last list. Rest assured, it is coming and I am ready to share it. I will also be talking about a movie I watched very recently with Marcie which just wrung my soul out.

Bah. Hours wasted on a file that was corrupt. Bad batteries! Bad!

A Treasure Trove is Found

While looking through the closets today after work, I stumbled across Marcie's photo albums. Pictures of her travels around the world, from her youth and her early adulthood abounded. Though I was just hit over and over at how much I have lost, it was a wonderful thing to find. I will post more substantially tomorrow.

Expect selections from her albums sometime this weekend. Good night, folks

F.

Marcie's Shrine

In the days following Marcie's death, I decided that I was going to need a shrine for her. I have finally decided to share it. It has all of her favorite scented candles, scent beads and little items that remind me of her and our times together.

At the risk of creating discomfort, here is a picture of the shrine. To be honest, I was relieved at how the picture turned out. I do not have a digital SLR camera, so it was taken with the same little digital no-name Point and Shoot cheapie the films are shot with.

As a tip for would-be dark photographers with ill-suited equipment, I set the little 5.1 megapixel camera to ISO 200 emulation, flash off, and used a little bean bag to prop it for the shot and keep it steady as the overly long exposure was completed.


The picture of my beautiful bride is one I framed and matted myself, and it is the print from the memorial that some of you may have never seen. The candles, in addition to the hearts and jars from the reception, include all of her candles from around the house, scented or not. The working fountain is one I made her for its calming effect.

Unseen behind the little incense holder in the forground is a collection of Marcie's coins from around the world. The delicate petals on the lower level are the orchid blooms from Jane's mother, which finally fell off this evening, as if to tell me to do this with them.

The runners were her favorites, and they match. Two show from the top of the higher table, and a longer one runs under her vessel and the lower candles, lengthwise. The bowls and the little square saucer contain her scent beads and her bits of tumbled, colored glass.

There is the idea that negative ions feed the spirit and calm the nerves. The salt rock candle is the only way to make those ions without creating ozone and a shock hazard. The ions also apparently feed ghosts in some popular trains of thought. Wonderful.

I always light the lower stage last, and the two stick candles in particular. They flank her ashes, which are encased in their container within the Indian box in the center of the picture. Both have little bells in their bases.

I gave one of those belled candles to Marcie when she was initially bedridden to summon whoever was there to help her. She used it a few times, and she always seemed to smile when I came to her at its call. So, when I am lighting them, they ring a bit, and their gentle little tolls give me a good memory of her, and help to make the whole scene that much more meditative and serene.

In other words, not creepy, just gentle and comforting. I'll get better shots of our Marcie's picture and some shots from other angles of the shrine when I can.

Good night, folks.

Frank

A Few of the Hardest Times

My moments with Marcie toward the end were sometimes soul-crushingly hard for me.

A few which came and went toward the end, beyond their inbuilt painfulness, were simply unmanageable, not because they were happening in general, but because of my baby's nature, and because they seemed to rip little pieces of her away.

They were so bad that I found myself thanking the stars that her mother, her brother, her friends and my family were not there to see it at all. But they have been eating at me, because I did not let people know how much utter destruction I handled alone.

I will simply list them here, so I can write about them more fully later, if I can get it together. They still push me to the edge. I will address them to Marcie, because these things happened at times when she may have been out of reach.

• When you held my hand and your voice was gone, I am sorry I could not understand. I think you meant to tell me something more than what I could read your lips to say, but that "I love you" was enough, and the rest you put so much effort and sincerity in is a loss I lament and wonder about daily.
• I am sorry I could not lift you into our room from that damn hospital bed. I was afraid to have you fall out, I was even more afraid to drop you. I should have taken the chance so I could have held you.
  
• The night your eyes pupils became different in your size. I saw it coming and I could not stop it. I held you but you I knew I could not hold you here.
  
• The day I brought you home and they had not done anything to rehabilitate you. I could not believe how your legs had turned to mush in that nursing home. I cried in private after every time I exercised your legs, and I was shattered when you no longer could resist rangte of motion when asked. But I fibbed, said "good," then kissed you.
• The night you died. Oh, Marcie. I wanted to force the life back into you, to pump you full of life, to stop the infection in your lungs by sheer will. I should have just held your hand. I am glad I did read to you, but I wish it had another day to.
  
• The days we had when you told me that I had to let another woman "experience me," your plans to prepare for death and your wishes for your birthday, to see a movie and have a dinner. The day of our date you had to go to the hospital.
  
• The day you told me you could see the changes in me and they made you sad, that I deserved to be happier. Oh, baby. I am so grateful for you, and I will be happy again someday. Give me time.

One evening Marcie "caught" me hiding my tears. I had just changed her diaper as she slept at about 2 in the morning, something which did not bother me in and of itself. Knowing my little Irish queen, my Macha, had that indignity to deal with, though, did.
She woke and caught my eye. I smiled reassuringly as I put her lotion on her legs.
"Oh, honey, you've been crying," she said, taking my hand in her weak little fingers.
I said, "Oh, I'm fine, honey. I just had a tear or two."
She would have none of it, and she sighed and gave my hand a squeeze. Her mumbling, warbled voice was clear, if quietly so, for a minute. "Honey, you've been crying a lot," she said, pouting. "I know. I know because your eyes are green right now, and that's a very rare, very hard cry for you. And I want you to know it's fine. Just let it out."
With another squeeze, she breathed deeply and was out like a light. I hugged her but did not cry any more. I just stayed resting, holding her in her little hospital bed until I heard her lightly snore.

I don't know that anyone will know such small, intimate things as she did. There were so many other little ways we knew each other. My eyes are very green now. Good night, folks.

Frank

Kathy Griffin - Marcie's Favorite Non-Marcie Redhead

Last night, I went up and visited Walt and Lisa Soto in San Clemente. Lisa is one of Marcie's girlfriends and someone I looked up through the internet when Marcie mentioned she missed her. I can't believe that was a decade ago.

Lisa and Marcie had elaborate outings together, each seeming to want to outdo one another with their ingenuity and keen eye for each others' tastes. That's something about Marcie's girlfriends that is paralleled. Who can get the more perfect gift for the other? Who can set up the better girls' out-of-town visit?

Last year, Marcie hit one out of the park. I picked up Lisa and her at 4th and B after a show with Kathy Griffin. Both were huge fans, and they got their money's worth. Kathy went over on time and, even waiting on the street for the ladies, I could hear the cheers and laughs inside.

Marcie never got to join Lisa for last night's show. Lisa purchased tickets to the show well in advance, before Marcie's illness began to overtake her. But, being a fan myself and wanting to enjoy something I knew Marcie loved, I jumped at the chance to see it with Lisa in her place.

Kathy is a comedienne of some notoriety and great humor, but she is not a humorist for the sensitive soul. Kathy is brutally honest. This would not be so fun in most circumstances, but Kathy hammers people who are the least prepared to deal with it and the thinnest-skinned imaginable.

The people she has insulted:

• Hollywood bigwigs
• Powerful politicians
• Disabled children in wheelchairs
• Oprah (she loves her but cannot resist)
  
• Christians
• Barbara Walters
  
• Fox News (especially Bill O'Reilly)
  

Naturally, I am drawn to her comedy like a moth to a flame. It's like a very bad cake you know you should not eat but you decide you have to. Plus, she is a redhead. Points for red hair, every time.

I had a wonderful evening. I don't think I was nearly as fun as Marcie, with her boisterous and infectious laugh, but I did my best. We had dinner at Lisa's and Walt's, a very special treat in my book. Dinner was outstanding, as was the company.

Walt dropped us off at the Orange County Performing Arts Center. What a place. I admit that I am loathe to say so, but it is a beautiful center. However, it is surrounded by the most overdone plastic, pastel-stucco, neon-laced commercial district I have ever witnessed, playing host to various garish national chain restaurants and light pollution.

Kathy killed. Repeatedly. Her special talent is in making you laugh at things you should not, while also stimulating thought about social priorities on the sly. I love it! Unfortunately, I also heard that Kathy is dating and may marry Steve Wozniak of Apple fame. No more "plan B: Date Kathy Griffin" for me. You know I kid (on the square)!

I knew which jokes Marcie would laugh at and I know she was there with me. Lisa told me later that she was glad I had come, and that she had almost canceled her attendance. Well, I am glad she didn't. That was a very nice moment of Marcie she provided me.

Thank you, Lisa and Walt.

Frank

Why My Thanksgiving Needs Marcie

So, I spent Thanksgiving yesterday at my Aunt Mary's. Marcie loved Aunt Mary's on the holidays, and when she went, I could usually count on Grandma Pruett to corral her and conspire, sharing gossip and juicy tidbits in hushed tones. Marcie loved it.

Marcie did not always enjoy the "big dinner" aspect of my family's holidays. The whole "dozens of cousins" motif was way out of her league for crowds in tight quarters. But she got used to it, and when she did go, she learned a little about our family every time.

When she finally started to relax and enjoy herself in the herd of bustling family my grandparents' 17 children made for, Marcie opened up. She would pepper me with questions and observations on the ride home, overstimulated and stuffed to the gills with the hearty fare my family cooks up.

I remember the day she finally started to process it all. She was driving home one Christmas evening, having enjoyed a good dinner. I had played softball after breakfast, a ritual she watched and enjoyed, then we had dinner and headed for home.

"Now Robert was the one who was bellowing at your grandparents' house this morning, right? What do you call him, his nickname?"

"Yes, that was Robert, and we call him Bugs," I said.

She laughed a Marcie laugh, a cackle followed by a falsetto, "Oooh, my god, that's so funny. Okay, okay... your grandma told me he's a little nuts. Why did she tell me that?"

"She just wanted to make sure you knew, I guess, I don't know," I said. "He's alright."

"Oh, he seems very nice," she said. "But he's definitely a crazy pants. He is a character."

Down the roster she went, associating little bits of wisdom Grandma imparted about us all, or sussing out some snippet of overheard gossip. She cataloged it all, so I knew we'd be back, because nothing tickled Marcie's fancy like scandal, gossip, and people watching.

And nothing was more fun than relaying the rich family history behind the nicknames and the personalities, the family myths, legends and folklore, and just generally the Pruett (and in the early years, the McNab-Craigg) culture to her.

Grandma's death was very hard on Marcie, as it was on many people. Last night, I looked at the seats they used to sit in at Aunt Mary's and wished fruitlessly that they were there. It made me sad, but I distracted myself by chatting people up.

Grandma and Marcie weren't there and I will not get to live in those particular moments again. But I guess that, if the whole idea that she and grandma's souls or spirits or energies live on is possibly true, then there is also a possibility that they were sitting somewhere, watching.

Maybe they were cackling a bit together. Either way, it was comforting to be with family on Thanksgiving. The trip home was not easy, though.

It was hard to drive home in that silence after seeing so many family members. It was hard not to be able to share a little more of my life with her, to listen to her gleeful accounts of her gossip with grandma for the day.

I turned the radio off as I drove home last night. When I pulled into the driveway and noticed it had been off, I wondered why I had. Then I that it was my habit to leave it off when Marcie and I visited my family. I just automatically expected questions from her and the practice formed.

I know that habits are habits. But then, Marcie may have been right there with me all day and on the way home. I think I'll leave the radio off when I drive home on holidays, just in case.

Thanks, New Pictures, New Store, More to Come

Hello, folks. First some gratitude, of which I have a lot to catch up on.

Thank you to my friends at Race and Human Relations at San Diego Unified. Your card is on my desk and I am thankful for the warmth and kindness, as well as class, that you share with me. I'll see you all soon.

Thank you, Mr. Cansdale. Your sharing of your own loss with me was very generous and poignant. It also showed you carry a strong ongoing connection to your loved one, which I found to be deeply comforting.

Thank you Jane. The photos are in the rotation. Please do me the favor of sending a few featuring you and Marcie. That goes for all of her friends. She would like having company in the pictures, as she was not very fond of having them taken in the first place.

Thank you, readers. Check out the originals of the title picture and two new pics in the photo sequence to the right. click on her picture for a bigger look, too...

There is a store to the right. I will be stocking it with Marcie's favorite things. Buy away. I get a little cut, but every penny goes to the mission. I will soon be adding a store with our personal possessions for sale as well.

No sharing of that list tonight, by the way. My camera is on the fritz (memory card issue). But tomorrow, we will share Marcie's Last List, if I do not completely fall apart trying to.

Good night, everyone.

F.

Sharing The Pain

Marcie and I shared some very difficult days early on in her battle with cancer. I'll write about them another time. After her first round of chemotherapy and surgery, the reconstruction and some extra medical therapy, those terrible, pessimistic days faded for a while.

But when Marcie suffered a seizure in the parking lot of the Union-Tribune and called me from the hospital, they returned with a vengeance. She had brain cancer which had spread to four places. Marcie immediately felt she was doomed.

Every few weeks after that, as I clung to every nugget of good news, Marcie would cautiously test the waters of my reality. Sometimes she would adjust it a bit.

"Honey?" she would ask, oftewn interrupting me as I talked about next week, next month, next year. "You know I am probably going to die from this, right?"

I would nod, and lamely defend myself in a smiling but serious way, "I am trying to plan for the best, prepare for the worst. I think you'll be alright. You could be totally OK, and that's what I hope for."

But sometimes she would fall apart at that, and sometimes the happy bubble I tried to make for her would pop. Usually, I could just hold her and stroke her back as she cried. I wanted to reinforce her with my will and hold up for her. I always could do that.

"Sh, sh, sh, baby," I would say. "I know you're afraid, but I need to believe you are going to get better. Either way, I am going to be here, I promise."

But sometimes it was just not what she needed to hear from me. Sometimes, she needed to KNOW that I knew. Marcie needed to feel that I had and acknowledged the same despair she was struggling with.

"Honey, you need to share with me," she said. "You're holding your anger and your sadness and your fear inside, and that's not healthy."

"I'm OK, honey. I'll wait until I have a reason to be afraid and sad. I am already angry."

That's when she would hit me with it. "I need to know that you are sad," she would say. "I need to know you are afraid, and I need you to stop hiding it because when you do I wonder if it's there."

And then it would be her turn to hold me for a while. "Sh, sh, sh, baby," she would say. "Don't worry, you'll be okay. I have to think you'll be alright. That's what I hope for."

Marcie, rest assured that I'm working on being okay. I am sad. I am angry at the fact you were taken from me.

But I am not afraid, because you are my heroine. And even if I can only touch you in dreams, I know you are here with me, either way.

F.

Tomorrow, I will share a special list with all of you in a video clip.

First Amazon Feature is up!

Hello, folks. I have put a donation box/tip jar on the left for those who want to help me that way. It is the most requested feature. Send me an email at frank(dot)pruett(at)cox(dot)net if you do give.

I will be adding amazon listings for some of my own and Marcie's media items like books, videos, DVDs and CDs, as well as a pass-through store with links to MP3/MP4 recordings for sale.

I hope to raise some money with what we own and get people to do some of their amazon holiday shopping through MOM (the convenient site acronym), as well.

Thanks for reading. More to come. Tomorrow, I will post about Marcie and her love for animals. Also, I will post a cleaned-up version of the Memorial book via a link off-site before Friday.

Good night, folks.
F.

How Our Love Grew Up

I have known for a long time that Marcie and I had something incredibly good. We had fire in our relationship, and our life was always oscillating between a perfect mix of volatility and stability and a perfect storm of them.

That heady blend is likely equally due to the fact that we both had passion, including tempers, and the element of luck, in that our love was stronger than the heat we generated. But, oooh, it got hot sometimes, and as often as feelings were hurt, especially at the beginning, we also had torrid seasons that felt like affairs, as if we were cheating on our own love.

But the fighting aspect was one thing I realize really changed over the years. I remember at the beginning that a really big fight might end with me stomping outside, or Marcie running off to a movie, leaving the other to sit in anxiety. Or worse yet, chasing each other around the house, getting in each other's faces.

Marcie let me know early on that I did not fight fair. Neither one of us really did. Every slight wrong, perceived, real, or inflated, from any number of incidents long forgotten would be tossed into the mix as arguments lingered. Someone had to win, or someone had to quit.

I was 23 and Marcie was 25 when we met. I was stubborn, argumentative and hated to lose. Marcie, while stubborn, was also wonderfully feisty and always game. The both of us were insecure, and both of us way too full of pride.

"Give me the camera. I don't want you taking pictures of me right now." Marcie after a bit of a row, 2000.

Our fights did not end with "My way or the highway." It was more like, "My way or the highway, which, by the way, is also mine, so shut up." That, thankfully, eventually changed. We still argued, and we both still stuck to our guns, but after a few rough years, I realized that arguments were fewer and ended much more quickly.

Looking back, I saw what happened clearly. At first, I would relent to tears, because I could not bear to hear her crying and hurting when she stomped off. She would relent when I stomped out the door, sometimes I would stay. Sometimes I couldn't.

With time, I would relent to her biting her lip, because I knew she was about to cry. Usually I would unwisely try to hug her, to quell the tears, making her more upset because she could not understand why I would want to make her so mad then hug her. She began to read me better and would get exasperated before I stomped off, dropping the issues.

In time, just a change in her eyes would mean a change in my direction. She did not so much wince as looked as if she wanted to as she glared, her stiff-lipped stance changing in my mind to something more of a pout. I don't know what she learned or how she knew she was hurting me, but sometimes she would just change the subject and grab my hand, asking, "It's time to change the subject, so what do you want for dinner?"

Eventually we both stopped fights "at the edge of hurt" with a quick grab of the hand or a hug and some healthy silence. And we both learned to win our battles better, too. In fact, we got to the point that arguments were fairly pointless. If someone clearly won, there would be a revisitation of it for a little giving back by the winning party.

We may have gone too far at times, and I may still regret some of our more heated arguments, regardless the making up we did. I feel now as if Marcie and I were kids who grew up in love, so to speak. She taught me a lot, and she learned a lot from me (or so she said, which flattered me utterly).

But as we came to understand each other, we diverted our less constructive passion into more rewarding ways of getting to the bottom of things. Like Marcie's bottom. Win or lose, sometimes it seemed like we sometimes fought only because good fighting meant delicious makeup sex.

I know I have kept this blog PG up to now, so let's just call that a punchline and I wish you, dear readers, a good night.

F.

Some Changes and a New Initiative

I will be placing an amazon store link and several ways for people to help in a way that Marcie would approve. I intend to have a store of all of the things that Marcie read or watched, including videos she owned. Some will be her old items, but clicking through to something you want from Amazon itself will also provide me with a share of the sale.

I will also be selling off my own media and other Amazon-listed items. Hopefully, by the time the mission begins, I will have little left in the house that is not something connected to her or me in a way that matters. This, along with some writing revenue and other savings, should help get me there.

There will be a number of ways to help via Amazon. I'll post about them as I set them all up and launch them. Later tonight, I hope to add more pictures, perhaps change the banner and post about Marcie and my relationship's evolution over the years.

I will also have guests who may let me take pictures as they look through the house for mementos. We'll see.

F.

Finding Moments of Marcie

On the day Marcie died, there were reports from people she was close to that they awoke between 2:00 and 2:15 in the morning of October 29 and had no idea why, or had dreams with Marcie in them before waking. As I relayed in this post, I was hoping that perhaps she could find some time to visit me.

A note before I continue with my experience. I am not a psychic, nor do I claim to be, and I do not know what I believe about the afterlife or even if there is one. But there are a few things I do know, and they alone are enough to give me slight solace and wild hopes.

The first idea is that everything in the universe has always been and will always be in the universe. The energy which is converted into more and more complex forms of matter itself can be converted back to energy. The forms may change, our perceptions of them may change or end, but the phenomena which aggregates around us is no more or less than that which the raw potential existence of the universe has always been.

Why this matters to me in regards to Marcie is that all potential fluctuates in its manifestation over time, becoming observable phenomena only as it leaves tracks in time marking where it was. Marcie, as a phenomenon, is therefore still leaving her own tracks in time, the potentials she represented still unresolved and working their way through the landscape of the universe, interacting with it and our potential in different ways.

All interaction affects all phenomena. Being affected by an idea, even about a place in a picture or about which one dreams, causes that idea or phenomenon to change in nature, even if only to gain the attribute of being something one has become aware of. That interaction itself, seeing a place and knowing it, then becomes a phenomenon itself, leaving its own footprint in time.

Set on that backdrop in my mind is the vivid experience I had on November 1. I had fallen asleep and was dreaming about an odd place filled with junk and crowded with people I knew who milled about and talked to each other. I did not seem to be able to open a conversation with anyone, but I knew I was dreaming.

I sighed and wondered why I had to be at this strange event filled with people who could not talk to me, or did not know I was there. The scene changed. It was as if the sun had gone down and a room had grown around me. I looked up in the dream and she was there, her eyes closed but a warm, calm look on her lips, a gentle smile.

I reached out to her and hugged her immediately to me, carefully and trying to keep myself calm, to stay in the dream with her for a little while. She was warm. She felt like her, smelled like her. I cried.

"Oh, oh, oh, honey," she said. "Oh."

It broke me. It was the last thing she said to me of any coherence before she died, and I sobbed then, too, draping myself over her in her horrible hospital bed prison, as if I could stand between death and her poor, ravaged body, shield her from oblivion. It was as if the loss and the inevitability of it all was reimposing itself on us.

After a time just holding her, stroking her back and burying my face in her neck, breathing just enough to manage shoulder-heaving sobs, I gathered up some composure and held her hips. I leaning back and looked down, then looked at her at her at eye level.

"So, baby," I asked, somehow unperturbed by her closed eyes and serene smile. "How is it? Are you okay? What is it like?"

She did not so much look at me as it seemed I felt the presence of her focus on the question. She slipped from my hands and floated up. I saw her body, naked but whole again, no scars from surgery, no stretches and tears from reconstruction, no emaciation or loose flesh and atrophied muscle to sully her.

I wondered if she enjoyed where she was and was happy that the pain was gone. She seemed to hear my thought, her lips opening in a slight smile.

"I don't know, honey," she said. "It's still a little loopy up there."

She faded away as I woke and wiped away tears. I did not so much awaken as my eyes opened and the gray room became our living room. As the light of the street lamps outside gave things form, I realized I was awakening at 2:12 AM.

I was inspired to rewrite a poem I had written to her early on in our love, which ended up (in slightly mortuary-misspelled form) in Marcie's Memorial Book.

Fire Child

A fire glows deep in your eyes,
Embracing me again.
You will not share what you devise,
You cannot tell me when
You'll come to me in dreams and sighs
And help me to ascend.
When that day comes, I realize
A new chase to you begins.

Other interactions have come. Some, I am sure, I have not remembered. I have heard her voice calling me to wake up, impatiently but gently nudging me into the day, as she always did. I have heard her laugh, smelled her on the air when I awoke to it. Always at the edge of my wakefulness or sleep, but not again so far at the same profound level as the first experience she gave me.

I do not know if there is life or the survival of the ego after death. One can have faith, one can believe, and one can think one knows. But the truth is we cannot really know, no matter how many cues we get in dreams and signs and sentiments.

What I am sure of is that I cherish every little hint of her that steps into my consciousness, be it on tiptoe or charging in in full naked glory, as she was wont to do in life. Whether Marcie has come to me as a process of my mind, a manifestation of her own spirit or simply as the part of her we in our relationship have made part of me, is irrelevant.

Rational philosophy and logic, regardless all dogma and argument for or against spiritual explanations, tells me that all phenomena and potentials affect all others and are affected themselves as well. Whether by active agency of Marcie's will or not, the fact that she visits me is proof enough that her phenomena and potential still affect me.

While she was alive in body, Marcie wrote a list of places to visit and left that list in a box of personal letters from friends she loved. She saw them as places to explore her potential.

I will visit them, and hope that as I chase her again, I'll get more visits, be they echoes of her in my heart, memories of her in my mind replaying themselves, or her beautiful soul drifting down to hold me up for just a little while longer.

Expect something less lengthy for tomorrow, and some changes to the sight as well. I may do a podcast of all of the songs Marcie loved, with a little voiceover and some anecdotes from me.

Good night, folks.

F.

Starting the Voyage

I am posting a money tally soon. I have some ideas about how to gauge progress toward the mission's budget. Expect the layout to change in subtle ways. Eventually, I should have a complete custom blog template here. More on that later... It's time to get moving.

I'll be selling some articles to local media to help get to my goal and be ready to travel. I'll be selling that work, hopefully, to Voice of San Diego, CityBeat, or SignOn.I imagine with a slew of awards under my belt (from this year, no less), it will be fairly easy to get some stringer work.

I am looking for writing assignments, folks. I can do just about any kind of article you can imagine, from "How to," to, "How come?" I can create supporting graphics and do my own photography. If you have any leads or assignments, contact me by replying to this post with a comment. Include your email address. You'll find mine embedded in the comment form.

I will be restarting my San Diego journalism blog again. I also plan to do some political and investigative coverage. As far as covering education goes, that is a nay, of course.

Tomorrow, I will be sharing some personal moments of Marcie with you. Does anyone want to share one of theirs? Let me know...

Thank you for your support. I'll write tomorrow.

F.

A Big Day for the Little Things

I have been catching myself wondering what I am forgetting to do all day long. It has been disconcerting, to say the least. I found myself thinking, "I forgot something," at 11:30, 12:30 and now, again, as 2 p.m. approaches.

I know what they all mean now, but that's just made it harder to get through the day, so I decided to share. I guess I won't unravel just how wound up my world was in my Marcie for a long time to come.

My day used to be:

8 - 11:30 (AM) Work. Tolerate the drudgery and pine for the outdoors and fresh air.
11:30 - 11:45 Call Marcie. Get/Give love. Drudgery dispelled.
12:30 - 1 (PM) Lunch. Pick up something at Henry's, maybe visit home. Always visited home after Marcie was bedridden. Either way, get more love.
2 - 2:15 (PM) Call Marcie. Find out if I need to pick stuff up. Get/Give love.

The little things count very much. Beyond those though is the realization that, like her touch, her smell and the sight of her, I miss her voice, even if I still believe I get to feel the love. :(

Marcie's Permanent Memorial

I have been keeping my plans close to the vest on the big memorial in some quarters, but letting some people in on the plan who might understand. Since it is our anniversary today, I chose it to make the announcement and set the wheels in motion.

I have a mission to undertake for Marcie, and I will need some help. I will be taking my baby's ashes all over the Mediterranean, North Africa, the Middle East and Southern Europe. I will leave a little of her in every city on her list of places she wanted to see.

The journey will not simply be a tour. I will be looking for little wisps of Marcie's spirit in each place I visit. It is my idea that things which resonate with us retain some of that resonance forever, as we retain memories. I will do my best to catch the echoes of her soul which may linger in those far-flung places, and will write about the whole thing as my voyage proceeds.

Watch the video to find out where we will be going. Click on it to play and for options. It has sound, so listen in.



I will be updating the page every day, gathering my memories and observations, and sharing the journey, which began the day she died.

Interspersed with personal stories about my relationship with Marcie, our adventures and those of our friends, I will link to my and Marcie's items on Ebay and Craig's List. I will also start tying into other blogs and running print ads.

I'll keep a tally of the money as I build funds for the trip, including any media money or advances. It is my hope that my efforts here will help land support. Thank you for yours.

The best to all of you and all of yours,
F.

Announcement Delayed

Because some of the features I was building into my announcement about Marcie's memorial were not complete, I will be holding off. Additionally, since tomorrow would have been our anniversary, it just seemed a better time for the big announce...

Sorry, folks. F.

Pictures and Video from Susan Komen

So, I went to the Susan Komen finale for the San Diego 3-Day at Petco Park. Marcie was never enamored of the pink ribbon phenomenon. She supported Komen and the mission, but her disease and the number of people offering pink ribbon items was a little too much. I remember her groaning over a bouquet.

I asked her why she was so nonplussed, and I had to write it down after she said it. It was something that reflected the kind of person she was. In her own words:

"I like the whole walk for the cure pink bow campaign concept. It's feminine, it's a ribbon, it's pink and it's all over the place. That's wonderful. What sucks is that every time someone brings me a gift with a pink ribbon, it reminds me that I am not Marcie the movie buff, or the woman in business development, or maybe even redhead. I'm breast-cancer Marcie. So I love the idea of helping, but I just want to be the smart redhead again, without the cancer."

I wanted that, too. But since that was not to be, we'll just focus on the event. It was massive. I recorded a clip of the event beginning.



Thank you to all of the people who marched, ran, walked and suffered for the cure. I have also set up a gallery of images from the event, along with this darkish slideshow. It's not my best work, but I did it.



Click on it to get video segments to share or just view, and better pictures to view. I have added captions to the gallery versions of these images.

Susan Komen Race for The Cure

So, yesterday was the kickoff day for the Susan G Komen Three-Day. I went and waved the marchers on at an official "cheering station." I will try to get some pictures of the event's end tomorrow (from Petco park), and then I will make the big announcement.

How I intend to try and make Marcie a permanent (or at least lasting) memorial will be detailed and I will be on my way. I think those of you who do not know my plans will be interested, and those of you who do will get a chance to weigh in on an actual plan. More tomorrow...

One Album Up And New Features

I have posted an album of high-resolution pictures of our Marcie for everyone to see, especially those of you who are far away or who have limited email capacity. I'll try to scan and upload every picture I have of her, dividing them eventually into different albums.

You can also just use the little album widget on the right side to see some pretty photos of my beautiful bride. Click on it to visit my albums and get high-res versions of the pictures.

I know I have been holding out on what my big plans are, and the fact is, the secret may have leaked out. However, I will let everyone know what I am going to do to honor our girl forever in the near future. It's big stuff, and I need to have my plan in place and my lists of things to do created and started.

I have added an email link on the comments form for personal communication. Click to leave a comment, then just use the email link above the comment field.

A Long, Empty Night

It's funny how the things we do to get by sometimes end up bringing us right back around to where we belong, whether we want that or not. Last night, I decided to attend the San Diego Press Club Awards, with the hope that a little camaraderie and noise would be good for me.

It worked for all of 10 minutes. I did talk to a lot of old friends and kept good face, but I had a hard time of it anyways. The first thing was my awards, which you can look up here. I realized, as I put on the little name tag with the place ribbons, that I would be proud of these as I showed them to Marcie, but that was not going to happen in this life.

I did enjoy the food, and I wandered around, reconnecting with old sources and colleagues. I started to leave but ended up speaking to Chula Vista Mayor Cheryl Cox for a bit, which was actually less difficult than sitting in the crowd inside. Thanks for the conversation, Cheryl.

As if to reinforce the idea that the awards had lost one of their most important contexts for me, a song sung in an alternately, artfully soaring and soulfully fading siren's voice played over the radio as I hit Pershing Drive. I should have changed the channel, but, being the glutton for punishment that I am, I pulled over instead and heard it out.

The Story
Brandi Carlile

All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I've been
And how I got to where I am
But these stories don't mean anything
When you've got no one to tell them to
It's true...I was made for you

I climbed across the mountain tops
Swam all across the ocean blue
I crossed all the lines and I broke all the rules
And baby I broke them all for you
Oh because even when I was flat broke
You made me feel like a million bucks
You do and I was made for you

You see the smile that's on my mouth
It's hiding the words that don't come out
And all of my friends who think that I'm blessed
They don't know my head is a mess
No, they don't know who I really am
And they don't know what I've been through like you do
And I was made for you...

All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I've been
And how I got to where I am
Oh but these stories don't mean anything
When you've got no one to tell them to
It's true...I was made for you
Oh yeah and its true, that I was made for you

I'll probably buy the album. She sounds like someone Marcie would like hearing, despite her folk roots (which Marcie was very choosy in accepting from people). Call it a recommendation.

F.

A Hard Day

Today has been one of the toughest "normal" days I have had since Marcie passed. I forced myself to go back to work on Monday, which has actually worked out by getting my mind on other things for a time during the day. However, this morning I simply did not want to do anything.

I got up and trudged in anyway. I worked on little things, caught up on some projects and set my mind to "work mode." I looked into grants for the school district's programs and lingered over dead ends. My heart wasn't into it.

I decided I was hungry today, for both food and a moment of Marcie, so I headed over to Lalo's Tacos (review), one of Marcie's favorites, for fish tacos with all the trimmings, another Marcie favorite.

I enjoyed it in a sad way, but I missed a meeting doing that, though it was rescheduled. I have to get it together.

I got back to my desk to find a message stating that Marcie's death certificates were available, which did nothing for me but cause me stress and make me not want to pick them up. It's a very official, coldly bureaucratic piece of paper that satisfies all of society's stingy and cynical paper potentates that our loss is properly documented and not subject to suspicion real, imagined or procured from spite.

Heaven forbid someone die without being allowed to by the powers that be, that collect and that jealously withhold whatever there is such an event entitles us to. Whatever it is, it certainly isn't dignity or respect.

More on what I will do as a permanent memorial for Marcie tonight.

:(

Things to look forward to

Hello, folks.

I will be adding new elements to the site soon. I will also be disclosing my plans to further memorialize my baby, our Marcie, as I catch my breath. For now, some simple things I hope will help you all remember her, whether you were able to attend her remembrances or not, will soon be on the site.

Planned or in the works are the following:

• A Photo Gallery
  
• A link to an archive of printable photos
• A flash presentation of the memory book from the ceremony
• Fresher links with more relevance to grief, breast cancer, etcetera
• More poems
• Stories from friends and relatives about Marcie

Keep checking in. Much more is still to come.

And Now I Wait

So the ceremony was wonderful, if tearful for me. Everyone was very understanding and let me stumble, choked up, over my thoughts and feelings. I closed it with a poem I wrote Marcie. I hope you all enjoy it. Personal or not, it is to be shared.

And Now I Wait

Sweet Marcie, know you why
Death came that night to choose you?
You were too young to die,
It was too soon to lose you.

Was there too much for us,
So heaven chose to take you?
A life so splendorous,
Did jealous fate forsake you?

So many things to do,
Such dreams we did endeavor.
And mine so built on you,
As love and wife forever.

Our pain of months and years
Overshadowed late that night.
When worst of all my fears,
You slipped beyond my sight.

It matters little dear,
I’m left without you, mourning.
To wander loveless here,
From shared voyage to sojourning.

I’ll never know your touch,
Never hear your voice again.
But what I’ll miss so much,
Is the warmth of you within.

Death was so hard on you,
You fought with all your mettle.
Then, sapped and harrowed through,
I watched your body settle.

You still live in my dreams,
I’ve seen you in your splendor.
Then I wake again, it seems,
And bitterly surrender.

A glaring sun’s new day
Will call for me, I reckon.
'Til then, I hope and pray
At night to hear you beckon.

There was more. If I decide to share those, I will mark them "Poetry:" in the title. Have a good night, folks. I am going over to take care of Marcie's mom.

F.

We Have Sent Her Off In Great Love. Thank You.

Before anything else, let me thank Jane and Jason, Elaine (Jane's mom), Christi, Melody, Tanya and Shawn, and Lisa and Walt. You good ladies and gentlemen pulled off a wonderful feat of coordination. You will suffer visits from me, and Marcie too, I am sure.

The number of people who showed on such a dreary, cold November day for my baby's ceremony was touching and I want to thank you all. She loved everyone in her own little way, and almost everyone who was special to her was able to make it.

To the folks at the Union Tribune and at Signon, I can only say, "Thank You. Thank You, Thank You, Thank You." The money you donated will go to help defray costs of a greater memorial. I will post more details on that on a much calmer day.

To my friends at San Diego Unified, what can I say but, again, "Thank You." You humble me.

Art, Elizabeth, Jim and Mary, your presence was very reassuring to me at the ceremony. I was deeply touched that people who I have not known much more than six months would be so good to me. Thank you.

The wreath from the folks in the Financial Division was beautiful, and the messages in the cards, as well as the signatures, were indicative of how well you take care of each other. I am honored that you have taken me in. I will see you all soon, broken heart permitting.

To our family, a huge thank you. Mom, Bobby and Cindy, what a great boon you were to me this week and in supporting my baby as she fought for life. I love you all.

Gary, John-John, Leslie, Virginia, and of course, Dad, thank you for coming and celebrating my greatest love with me. She knows every one of you by name and knew something about all of you that endeared. She probably knew the names of the wives I am so terrible at remembering the names of, too. She knows how important you all are to me, and I am sure that she was deeply gratified to see you there. Our love to you all.

To my family who attended Nicole's wedding. Firstly Nicole, congratulations! I look forward to meeting the groom, and I trust you chose very well for yourself. My God, I cannot believe that I held you when you were a baby. To the rest of you, I totally approve and understand your choice to support our little cousin in celebrating a love I hope will rival Marcie's and mine.

To my friends Dean, Joey, Karl and Zandie (spelling?). Way to represent. You folks are the epitome of easy-going, blue-collar-roots class (even though you are techies and closet professors, too). I'll be calling for your help in the coming days. I know you'll answer.

Janet and Dave, Marcie always considered you the nicest of people, as do I. That you showed for this latest moment only reinforced that. I promise to uphold our tradition of low-maintenance tenancy and mutual respect as well as she established it.

To Rick Eaton, a good man, master photographer and a true stalwart. Thank you for the beautiful plant and for coming to support me. "One door closes and another opens," you said. Truly. Stay in touch and don't keep those pictures to yourself.

For those of you who have just gotten here, please read the archives. This did not start as a memorial. More will be posted later today.

If you went to the ceremony at Torrey Pines but did not come to the wake afterward, please contact me so that I can add you to the book of attendees. Also, everyone who is following this blog should send an email to frank(dot)pruett(at)cox.net OR frankORD(at)cox(dot)net.

I'll see you all in the fullness of time. Our best to you, from Marcie and I.

F.

NOTE: THE MAP IS WRONG

The map provided by Google is off-center to the point we will be meeting at. I have removed the link from the previous post. LOOK for LIFEGUARD TOWER 4, less than 1/4 mile from where you will turn left onto Torrey Pines Road North (Off Carmel Valey Road). Free Parking above the beach runs along the right side. Sorry for the confusion.

Memorial Ceremony Site Chosen

The memorial site, where people can say a few words in honor of Marcie and (we hope) to release some of her remains, has been chosen. It will be at Torrey Pines, near the beach access slope at Lifeguard Tower 4. We will gather at 5 P.M. You don't have to dress up, but please bring a coat in case it cools down.

To get there, follow Carmel Valley Road until it ends, turning left onto North Torrey Pines Road. Follow North Torrey Pines Road across the little bridge over the lagoon and park on the right.

All of the parking along the road is free, as long as you do not enter the State Preserve lots.Parking is not too limited, but is somewhat and it is a popular spot. If you know others who will attend and live near you or nearby, please carpool to save parking at both the ceremony and the wake.

The ceremony may last beyond sunset. We will likely have candles. After the ceremony, we will proceed to the wake. It may be sooner than 7 p.m., but those who will only attend the wake can show a little late. It will be informal and gentle, much as our Marcie was.

Small Memorials, Little Mentions and More Details

Some of you may know that I once worked at San Diego City Beat. Well, AnnaMaria Stephens, who used to work with Marcie, wrote a cover story on breast cancer and wanted me to know that Marcie was the unnamed woman she mentioned at the Union-Tribune.

Also, Frances Shani Parker has dedicated her post on hospice volunteer vigils at her blog to Marcie. My sweet girl keeps growing, even as we struggle to deal with her departure.

I am about to contact Jane Steele on finalizing our location for the ceremony at Torrey Pines State Beach. A map and directions will be up later. It's very close to the location for the wake, but we need to pin it down.

A Note of Thanks

Thank you to everyone who has written in with condolences. I appreciate your support immensely. I am sorry I cannot respond to everyone individually right now, but I will catch up in time. I am sure that Marcie would be overwhelmed. I'll see everyone at the ceremony and/or the wake.

Directions to the Wake

The reception/wake location for Marcie's remembrance has been determined. It will take place at the Steele residence in Del Mar, 12968 Caminito Del Pasaje (Map, Click Here). The following directions should help:

Going North on 5: 
-  Exit at Carmel Valley Road heading west (left at the light at top of ramp)
-  Proceed west approximately 1 mile
-  Turn right onto Del Mar Scenic Parkway (there is a traffic light at this intersection.)
-  Proceed to up the hill.  Try to park on Del Mar Scenic as close to the top of the hill/tennis court as possible
-  My address:  12968 Caminito del Pasaje - Pasaje is the last street off Del Mar Scenic.

Coming South on 5:
-  Exit at Carmel Valley Road heading west (right at the light at top of ramp)
-  Proceed west approximately 1 mile
-  Turn right onto Del Mar Scenic Parkway (there is a traffic light at this intersection.)
-  Proceed to up the hill.  Try to park on Del Mar Scenic as close to the top of the hill/tennis court as possible
-  My address:  12968 Caminito del Pasaje - Pasaje is the last street off Del Mar Scenic.

West on Ted Williams (56):
- Merge onto Carmel Valley Road West
- Proceed 1.4 miles
-  Turn right onto Del Mar Scenic Parkway (there is a traffic light at this intersection.)
-  Proceed to up the hill.  Try to park on Del Mar Scenic as close to the top of the hill/tennis court as possible
-  My address:  12968 Caminito del Pasaje - Pasaje is the last street off Del Mar Scenic.
 

Marcie's Ceremony and Wake

The wake and the ceremony will happen on Saturday evening. The location will be the Torrey Pines State Beach area for the ceremony, which will be followed by the wake/reception at a private home nearby.

A specific address, along with directions via google maps, will be posted by tomorrow. The remembrance will commence at 5 PM, with dropping in late allowed. The wake will begin at 7 PM.

A reminder to all who want to bring food for the potluck (or supplies or sodas, or gifts). Please contact Jane Steele (janedsteele-at-yahoo-dot-com, no dashes and no parentheses). Jane will coordinate where, what, how and all things food.

Special thanks go to Tanya, Jane (And her mom, of course!), Bobby (Marcie's big brother), and all of you who are contributing. Another special thanks to Marie Salmon for helping with the obituary, which was lovely, and to the people sending out the word internally at the UT and SignOn.

You can read the obituary in today's paper, or find it here. Please sign the guest book, and upload any pictures of our girl that you might have.

Frank

Update On Details

I still don't have a final location for the proceedings, and I am trying to nail down either Friday or Saturday for the event. Currently, they are running neck-and-neck. Whatever the end result, the celebration of life will begin at 5:30 PM Friday or 5:30 PM Saturday. The wake afterward will begin at 7 PM.

By tomorrow, I will lock in a day. The places for the memorial and wake will be announced and directions posted by Thursday night. Please mention if you are bringing spouses or friends. Children will now be allowed for people who have trouble finding sitters.

Folks, I am working on it. Suggestions of place are fine, but because we are all of differing faiths (and levels of it), church sites won't work out. Focus on places near Sunset Cliffs if you have ideas (Point Loma, Shelter Island, etcetera).

Please write in to me, or contact Melissa Senoff (SignOn), Marsi Bowers or Marie Salmon (Union-Trib) so that I can keep a good tally of who will attend.

Our love to all of you,

F.

Some Details

So, I have nailed down the date to Friday or Saturday, sunset. I am leaning toward Saturday. Please write in and let me know if you would like to attend and what day is best for you. Once I know how many to plan for I will narrow down the locations to have the celebration at. I am still open for suggestions.

Because of many people offering to bring food, I will probably forgo catering. If you would like to bring food, bring casseroles, salads, breads and the like. Some baked dessert goods would be great. Let me know what is coming so I can prepare for hot, cold and the like.

There will likely be a memory book with Marcie's photos and some sayings, poems and the like, completed before the day of the memorial proceedings. Knowing how many will attend can help me determine how many of those to have printed.

Offers of Assistance

Good morning, everyone.

I am overwhelmed with your wonderful offers of assistance. They are welcome, but I am not sure where to start. However, I must ask you to not send personal information or communication to me over the blog, since it does not give a reply address to respond to when you post to the blog, and posting is for sharing thoughts with everyone.

When you would like me to contact you or write back, please e-mail me. My address -replacing the words in parentheses with the symbols sans parentheses- is the following: frank(dot)pruett(at)cox(dot)net. No spaces, no parentheses.

Today I will be rewriting Marcie's obituary to be a more verbose celebration of her life and all the special elements she left out in her own, typically modest, script. It should appear in the Union-Tribune tomorrow and Sunday, as long as I get it in on time (1 o'clock this afternoon).

I do need help with her memorial. I need a place close enough to Sunset Cliffs to be inviting to everyone to come for a drink and a bite to eat. I am hoping Marcie's memorial will take place on Friday or Saturday at sunset. I will eulogize her and hope others will speak to her as well. I believe that she will join us in her own way.

On that note, I need to know how many wish to attend and what days work for whom. I am asking that no children be brought to the wake/reception function, but I am also asking that anyone and everyone who knew and loved our Marcie feel welcome to join us for the memorial.

This memorial will not be the last one for Marcie. I will be planning a much more fitting and longer-lasting tribute to her than a piece of dirt and a tombstone can provide. I will share my plans when the time is right. There are other plans as well.

Once again, I am calling out for people to tell me if they will attend. Ask people for me and send names of those wishing to be there. She had a special place in her huge heart for a lot of people, so I hope to see all of those I heard so much about attending.

Our love to all of you.

F.

Hoping for a Visit

I have spent the day thinking about what to do for Marcie's memorial, submitting papers and getting the hospital bed she was trapped in for weeks out of our house. It might help weaken the more recent memories of her in favor of all the beautiful memories her photos have for me to recall.

Thank you to all of you who have been giving and offering your support. I will announce the memorial (or celebration of life) details when I have them worked out.

Some people reported experiencing a strange "wakeup call" around 2 AM last night. I am hoping that I get such a visitation from Marcie. At any rate, I will be sleeping a lot, just in case. Goodnight, folks.

Marcie Has Gone

My baby is gone. Our world is that much darker. It happened at about midnight. She was in great pain, panting and struggling, so I called the hospice nurse, who upped her medication. When I checked on her, she had slipped the bonds of her flesh. I am thoroughly and utterly crushed.

The Fever

I have been fighting Marcie's fever the whole day. It spiked after I moved her this morning. I got some water down her and tried to get her antibiotics in. I have switched from liquids to apple sauce and yogurt as bases to mix her medicines in, as she cannot swallow well and may soon lose that ability wholly.

Unless she turns a corner, this could be it. She did not have her usual evening wide awake time today, but has been struggling and her breathing is rapid. She also has some discomfort, so I will be trying to give her medication again, which she has been refusing.

A Slow and Busy Morning

Marcie's morning ritual took a little tonger this morning. She needed some extra care and I gave it to her.

I woke her at 7 a.m., first clearing her throat of some phlegm and wiping her face, dabbing mostly, patting it dry. I gave her drops of natural tears and cleaned around her cannula:


After the accumulated moisture and grubbiness of Marcie's sleep was off her face, I changed her bed. I gave her a bath while I did it, slowly shifting her to her left side from her right. She quietly watched or snoozed when it suited her, serene.

After almost an hour, I took her laundry out and got it started. She generates a lot of it. I like to use clean washcloths and towels for her. The latter, at least, are plentiful.

I came back and she was snoozing hard. I finished changing her clothes, carefully giving her a fine coat of her favorite oils, salves, unguents, balms, lotions and emulsified suspensions of every type. She woke and indicated she was quite amused by it all, since the home health aids take about half the time and don't "moisturize."

It was time to grind her medications. I did that, made a mix of it and water in a syringe. She took it with OJ. I got her to take some orange juice and more water, finishing two loads of laundry as I set her up with some gentle classical music to drown out the hum of the air mattress and the oxygen rig.

Her pupils are mismatched. I gave her Ativan and massaged her again. She's warm.