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.

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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.