Remembering the life and smiling

 My brother, Dan, had a best friend. Jon Awbrey. Jon is sitting on the float with the guitar. Dan is standing to the right with the orange vest.

They were both insane.  Jon still is.

Example, Jon had thoroughly broken his leg playing football (I think). But skiing season was upon them so they wrapped the cast in plastic and they skied all day.

Jon helped Dan live a full life. 

The link below was sent to me on Facebook with Jon commenting that this was something that he and Dan would do.

I certainly is. Just with out the extra clothing or the googles.........
 (BTW, it is the couch surfing one. You don't have to watch the rest!)

https://www.facebook.com/Spi0n/videos/10153125384367171/

I will always miss him. Tonight especially.

King for a Day

He was a Leo. King of all around him.

Today he would have been 64.

Today I would have called him and sung a horrible rendition of "Happy Birthday".

He would have answered the phone and, instead of saying hello, would have said "Oh, god, not again" and I would have made the rendition even more off key.

I don't think I missed a Birthday in the last ten years of his life.

I don't call now. But I still sing to him. I just keep it in tune now.

Happy Birthday, Dan. I love you.

Painting

Today was the day that the master bedroom began it's makeover. (Note earlier posts on the new house)

Today it was just me and Justin, one of the contractor's employees.

Justin likes music. And he had some great stuff on his ipod.

So, as we worked we talked.

At first it was him telling me how to paint like a pro.

And I told him the stories that Dan told me about painting and restoring some of the old Victorians in Sacramento.

"How do you paint all that detail up four floors?" "You lean out the window."

As I told the story, I could see Dan leaning out some old window, risking life and limb to get an even coat of exactly the right color.

Then we talked about the music. Justin had put on some Beatles. He figured I would like that.

So I asked him what he liked. And he put on some folk-bluegrass. Heavy on fiddle and guitar. With singers like Seasick Steve.

I had never heard of the guy. But I am pretty sure that Dan would have.

It was just Dan music. Skilled, off-beat, and musical.

I missed him so much.

Then I realized that he was right there. Painting and singing with us to Seasick Steve.

Then there was a bit of Queen and things got REAL LOUD.

Glad the place in way out in the country!

Gunsmoke

I had been thinking that I hadn't heard from Ward in quite a while. I was afraid that there would be no more stories of Dan.

Then this email came.

=========

"We grew up on Westerns. Hoppy, Gene, Roy, they were all there for us to emulate.  Before TV we listened to thrilling episodes of "yesteryear" on the radio.  Plots were purely melodramatic but uniquely exciting to the 8 year old mind.

 

The first adult Western I can remember was Gunsmoke  and I listened every week, Saturday morning (probably a re-run).  We were  one of the holdouts; I was 9 before we finally got a TV and then, much to my dismay,  Gunsmoke was on after my bedtime!  When I finally was allowed to watch It took some getting used to James Arness instead of William Conrad as Marshall Dillon.

 

Strathmore was the perfect Dodge City.  I would be so excited to be spending the night with Danny's Grandma Turney.  I think the folks were just as excited.  Visits usually coincided with the local dance club outing of which my parents and the Gisvolds were members.

 

So there we'd be- downtown Strathmore.  We'd put on our hats, strap on our guns, shoulder a "shotgun" and patrol the town's back streets.   Later on we'd visit the local saloon and Miss Kitty (Danny's Grandma) would serve us up something cold.

 

Of course those Saturday evenings culminated in our being snuggled down in front of the TV watching the latest episode of Gunsmoke.

 

During our visit we always went next door to visit Cese. Danny's Great Grandma the oldest person I had ever known. She sat in an old wicker-style wheel chair with a lap robe and had sparkly eyes, sharp as a tack.  I was impressed because she was alive during the Civil War.  My, she and Danny got along famously.  We always played cards while we were visiting her.  She had the first Cribbage Board I had ever seen and I always think of her whenever my wife and I play Cribbage.  The visit was never complete without iced tea and, I think it probably was Sassafras but I can't be sure. 

 

I'm sure that one of the reasons Danny was such a great caring human being was due, in part, to the great nurturing from the Turney household  in Strathmore."

 

=======

 

This brought up so MANY memories. I can see Dan at our grandmother's house (we called her Nana) hiding in the attic, running next door to Cese's house, picking lemons, and helping make pomegranate jelly. 

 

Ward, keep them coming.  

 

 

Deer

A long time ago, I got a call from Dan. He was on the side of the road in Montana. He had been driving home from the truck center. He had been driving for a few days and he was tired.

But when he called he was a bit excited.

He had hit a deer.

On the highway.

Going home.

Wrecked the car.

Hurt the deer.

But he was fine.

I remembered the long lecture I got about driving on dark roads in the country. After all I had just had a physical discussion with a boar and my father-in-law's car. (The boar lost)

So he was at the side of the road with a crushed front end telling me to be careful.

At the time I could have strangled him.

But today, driving to our new house in the middle of nowhere, in the Coast range, I almost got my own deer. Four of them to be exact.

Two of them came leaping across the road and I had plenty of time to miss them.

The third one had to have been on a death mission. I missed him with significant room but only because of what Dan had told me.

Watch the sides when you see one.

One leapt out and the fourth stayed put.

They were beautiful creatures and all I could see was Dan at the side of the road.

Lessons well learned.

Thanks for the lecture, Dan.

Livid

Dan would be livid.

Absolutely livid.

Not because I am upset but because HE would find this kind of lily-livered, politically motivated, STUPID decision by the Susan G. Komen Foundation INSANE.

You see, Dan used to help out with Planned Parenthood. His first wife and several of his friends worked at PP in Sacramento. He got me a part-time job there when I was in law school. Dan's support of women's health was total.

He was all excited when I decided to support SGK walks. He loved reading the stories that my friend Karen wrote about her training for the Walk. He thought that the cause was not only worthy but was free of politics.

So when the news hit last night that SGK was pulling its support of PP because of a congressional investigation, I could hear him hit the roof. Especially since there is NO investigation. There has been a request by a Republican congressman for an investigation. There has been no hearing scheduled. Just a threat.

And I thought McCarthyism was dead. So did Dan.

He would be really glad for all the people that have stood up on Facebook, Twitter, Google+. Who have called and signed petitions and made their voices heard.

I can hear him saying "what are you thinking?" to the SGK people. Then he would note the change in the administration and say, "what did you expect?".

I guess we all expected that SGK would want to help women.

I hope we aren't wrong.

The New Place

We have purchased a new house.

It is ten miles from the nearest hamlet and 20 miles from where I work in San Luis Obispo.

It is nestled in the Coast Range in what is considered high desert.

There are pastures and oaks. There are deer. Probably a bear or two. Raccoons for sure.

It is on a private well. It uses propane and there is NO cell reception.

It is a perfect place.

For Dan.

He would have loved the isolation. He would have loved the quiet. He would have loved the wildlife.

The other day I took a break from the interior painting. (Fumes, you know!) And I am standing on the back deck looking out at the neighbors pasture.

I had been thinking about how Dan would have loved the place. How much I wished he was there with me.

Then I realized.....

He already was.

It felt like he was everywhere I looked. Every place I touched.

He was in every rock and tree and bush.

This was a place he loved.

I am at ease with that.

76 Trombones

Ward is a wealth of stories about Dan. Things I had no way of knowing (I was the baby sister, after all.) and Bill had left for college when most of these things happened.

But when I discussed the latest of Ward's musings with Bill, he, like me, could just see Dan doing the things that Ward describes.

So here is the latest from Ward. Thank you for putting a grin on my face as well. By the way, I have shortened the name of the villain to avoid any repercussions!

We started music in grade school.  It was an important entity to Lindsay's persona.  Mr. Kemper was our first instructor and he helped us and our parents select the instruments we were to be married to. (Kemper also owned the local music store and sold or rented out most of our horns.) I got the clarinet (something about my mouth shape-I was really hoping for a trumpet).  Danny started on the trombone.  At first it was bigger than he was but Kemper must have been a prophet cause when Danny grew his physique emulated that instrument. 

By the time we were in the Jr. High Band we had uniforms- hand me downs from the high school, I think.  Ill fitting scratchy wool gaberdine - they said I looked like the organ grinders monkey with the tin cup.  The crotch of my pants almost reached the floor with the waistline at my armpits.  Danny's hung like clothes on a stick scarecrow.

We never took anything seriously in those days, especially band.  Band was an enjoyable release from scholastic activities.  Sour notes and other interesting sounds could be produced on our horns at inopportune moments.  Band teachers failed to appreciate our efforts.  None the nevertheless we had a succession of instructors that whipped our band into an award winning entity. Mr. Kemper passed away of a brain tumor and was replaced by Mr. Roach, a young cocky trumpeter who we adored and would do anything for. Roach got hired away and Henry Leal was his successor.  Dark hair, tall, mysterious looking Mediterranean, he gave us the score to Victory at Sea which we all loved to play.  The band was excellent.

Mr Jones came to stay when I was in my Sophomore year, Danny was a freshman.  We soon discovered that he had a temper and we could get his goat at will.  To counter our subterfuge Jones, Fella, Mr. (our name for him)  appointed Dave, DRUM MAJOR!!! Dave took his job and everything else much too seriously and soon got slaunchwise with Danny and me; because he often was seated next to the trombone section, he gave Danny an especially hard time.  He often made life miserable on band trips especially on the bus where there was very little supervision, if any.  Danny took a lot of guff from this bully and came close to throwing punches.

So here's the story.  There was a big production of THE MUSIC MAN in Visalia.  The call went out for trombones and trumpets from every county high school.  The finale had trumpets and trombones marching down  the aisleways of the auditorium to the stage playing "76 Trombones.  ( Now Danny got a great big grin and glint in his eye when he told me about this the Monday or Tuesday after it happened, and he had the same look when he retold the story some 50 years later.)  It seems to Danny's incredible luck that the trombones marched behind the trumpets and going down the path just in front of Danny was Dave.  Danny's words were the same both times he related the story.  " I never played a note.  I just got as close as I  could to Dave and kept ramming my slide into his backside with every step."  There was a lot of marching in place and Foster just had to take it.  Poetic justice was served.

So as I was throwing feed to my chickens and peacocks, feeding and petting my foster cats, I remembered Dave's name.  I had everything else as sharp as the first time Danny told it, just couldn't remember the villain.  I started to smile, then grin and chuckle cause I can just see Danny strutting down that aisle whanging away at Dave with his slide.  I can see him in the band room stretched out on his chair blowing for all he is worth and the tune is either "76 Trombones" or "Victory at Sea".

--------------------------------------------------------------------

And that is where my brother's grin comes from!!!!

Others Remember

We are still finding people who do not know that Dan is dead.

It is so hard to say that. I don't like to think that he is. He is just gone and somehow that thought lets me believe somewhere that he will be back.

But I will always have my memories. No one can take them from me.

And so do all of his friends.

The following is from Dan's childhood friend, Ward T. Ward was one of the ones that just found out about Dan. Through his tears, he wrote me this:

Bikes.  Growing up we were always on our bikes and we went everywhere.  It's  interesting  that Danny's last bike was like the bikes we grew up on.  Three speed Sturmey Archer "Mary Poppins" style bikes.  Danny's was red.  I had a black "Indian".  School, music lessons,(Hannigan's of course), Boy Scout meetings, baseball practice, swimming pool we were all expected to get  there on our bikes unless it involved being after dark or it was raining.  A flat tire was like being grounded.

I don't know where the idea came from, but Danny and I would drop the front wheel off one of our bikes and then bolt the front fork over the back wheel of  the other bike and, presto!! - an articulated tandem.  We rode all over town like that.  I don't think the idea was too popular with the folks.

There was nothing quite like the carefree freedom we had and the independence bestowed on us via our bikes.

We grew up in a wonderful town at a wonderful time. We were allowed everywhere (well, almost everywhere) And we were watched by everyone in town. We felt so very safe. 

Thank you, Ward. He is alive with our memories.

At the Feet of Hemingway

Dan loved the writer's conference that is held every year in Idaho. Bill would (at first) sneak him in and later got him tickets. Dan just absorbed all of the intellectual discussions and thoughts. He was in "hog heaven".
He tried to go every year but couldn't always get out of the truck schedule.

So when Bill was in Idaho this last week, he took the remaining remains of Dan to the site of the writer's conference. There is a memorial to Hemingway there and some grassy areas that Dan loved.

On the memorial is written:

Best of all, he loved the fall.

The leaves yellow on cottonwoods

Leaves floating on trout streams

and above the hills

The high blue windless skies

…Now he will be part of them forever.

He lies there now. 

At the feet of Hemingway. 

Knees

Ok. I will admit that what I am about to write is a little weird.

Maybe it is just how I put things together in my brain. And that is known to be very weird.

But when I think of Dan, like when I am passing a semi-truck on the freeway, or when I see the ocean, or when I look at a good climbing tree, the first thing I visualize is not his face.

I see his knees.

They were always bent. Or so my brain sees them.

This thought process began as I sat for breakfast with some friends whose 15 year old son is well over 6 feet and is the center on his high school football team. He is a rather LARGE young man. And his mother was describing the son's discomfort when sitting in restaurants or school buses or any other mode of transportation meant for the general public.

Dan spent his travel time with his knees somewhere near his nose. And usually closer to his ears.

We took a trip once on Amtrak. From Whitefish, Montana to Minneapolis, Minnesota. Twenty four hours where he never got to stand straight up or stretch out his legs. Airplanes were worse.

But even just sitting on a lawn mower, his knees were above his hands. He just didn't physically fit.

He was that way as a kid. At least as I remember. Knees near his ears.  Just trying to fit into a space too small for him.

Maybe the world was too small for him.

So I think about his knees.

The Star

Back: Dan, Gael, Heather, Bernadette, Bill  Front: Mom holding Melodie, Dad holding Jill                                         Christmas 1972

Christmas at our house was a BIG deal.

Our mother had a real flare for that kind of thing and she loved kitch.

So we had little elves swinging from the chandeliers and picking around lamps on tables. There was real and plastic ivy on anything that would hold it. There were pine wreaths in every room. Ornaments hung in the most unlikely of places. And there was always the tree.

Covered in every ornament you can think of.

The house was bright and shiny.

Now there were jobs for each of us. Bill and Dad did the outside lights and Dad and Dan did the lights on the tree. Always.

This was, I figured, because Dan was so skinny and tall that he could reach the top of the tree without knocking it over. I remember him putting on the star. Or at least I think I do.

It is funny what your brain does with memories. All my childhood becomes a amalgam of impressions and snap shots. I somehow manage to put them all together. Not necessarily in chronological order.

Because we weren't always grown. Dan had to have been too small to do what I think I remember him doing.

But it is a good memory. So I will keep it.

Just like I have kept mom's elves, her Christmas table cloth, and, believe it or not, some of the holly.

Christmas was a big deal.

It Happened Again

Another of Dan's friends from high school contacted Bill today. He had lost track of Dan over the last year.

Bill and I have both sent him emails but I know he will be crushed.

He was part of the Linda Vista Gang.

Those were the kids that hung out in our back yard and played baseball and football and any other game we (they) could think of. My mom was always making kool-aid (the good kind) for them. And I was always being a pest cuz I wanted to play. I didn't care that they were boys but they seemed to care that I was a girl. Go figure.

When I think of Butch, I remember warm summer nights and the smell of orange blossoms. Which is kinda funny since oranges bloom in the spring and the last of any crop was gone by summer. But that is how my mind scrunches up the time.

Butch's mom and dad were great friends to our parents. They disagreed on almost everything political but, as my dad would say, politics shouldn't ruin good friendships.

When I think of those nights I remember Dan running. I remember him throwing the baseball with all his might and the hat coming right off of his head. I remember him grinning.

I remember him. I remember him healthy and happy.

I hope that Butch can remember him that way, too.

Today is Another Day

I have lots of thoughts of Dan these days. Just random memories that really make no sense.

Except for today. This one made a little sense.

Today my daughter walked into work so that she could go to lunch with me. Which is really neat as she no longer works here and is getting ready to go to San Diego for three months to study for the Bar exam.

We go to lunch with some friends and she is ragging on me about something. My comeback was to give her the look. And her comeback was "You can't be mad at me when I am being cute! And she proceeds to screw her face into the 2 year old "I am so cute" face.

I start to laugh and the memory of Dan playing "Concentration" with her comes to mind.

Please note that at the time of this little card game Melodie is @ 2-3. And Dan..... well,

He hadn't changed much in 18 months or so from the time this picture was taken.

But Melodie was a sharp little kid. AND SHE KNEW IT!

She keeps beating the ***p out of Dan. Dan, despite his youth, had a serious case of ICRS (I can't remember ***t) Which does not work well when you have to remember where the last card was and where it's match is.

And being the shy, retiring child that she was (and still is) she would say things like;
"Can't you remember anything, Uncle Dan?"
"How old ARE you, Uncle Dan?"

And other politically and socially correct things like that.

Dan got so frustrated. You could see it in his face. He couldn't yell at a little kid even if she was a smart-aleck.

Not when she made that face.

Thirty-five+ years later, she makes that face and I see him.

Yeah, that cute face

I see him laughing at his own frustration at being beat by an itty-bitty, smartypants kid. With a cute face.

At His Bedside

We got to Redding at some ungodly hour. It must have been after 2am. We had flown in a single engine plane that Bill had arranged.

It was cold and foggy. Typical for the Valley.

We couldn't find the cab that we were told would be there.

When we did, we had what seemed like a ride for forever to the hospital. I thought I had steeled myself. I thought I could handle seeing him. In a hospital bed with tubes.

But it was like seeing him when he was a kid in the stupid hospital bed at home. He had valley fever then. And there were no tubes then. And he woke up when I touched him. He would yell at me or ignore me then.

I wanted him to wake up and ignore me. Please.

So I held his hand, and I stroked his hair.

I talked to him.

I read to him.

And I sang to him. Danny Boy. The version that he hated, of course.

Maybe he would wake up and ignore me. Please.

And then others arrived and I stepped away from the side of his bed. They wanted to be there, too. And I wanted to scream. But I didn't.

I left. I had to go to work the next day. I could have stayed but now I knew he was gone and I didn't want to be part of the discussions.

I just wanted to be next to him. And I couldn't. It was not my place.

So, Melodie and I got on a train, And I stared at the bottom of her bunk. All night.

I couldn't cry. I couldn't move. I couldn't even think.

I just stared.

My best friend was gone and I could not bring him back.

Tonight I relive that 24 hours.

And I cry. Quietly.

An Anniversay I Don't Want

It was about this hour. I was watching television. Grey's Anatomy.

And the phone rang. And I didn't want to get up and get it. So I let the caller go to voice mail. Then it rang again. And I grudgingly got up to get it.

All he said was "Something is wrong with my eyes. I can't see right."

Tonight the whole conversation comes back to me.

Crushingly.

I feel like I could have done something, said something, thought of something. I know that is not logical and that there is nothing on this earth that I could have done. But I FEEL differently.

I have gone through depression, bargaining, anger but I can't get to acceptance.

I want the phone to ring. I want it to be him. I want to take it immediately and happily because I know it is him. I want to sing to him. I want him to go to Melodie's graduation from law school. I want to see his face again. I want to hear his voice.

There is no cure for what ails me tonight. Like Frodo's knife wound, it will always hurt more on the night that it happened.

Jonathan Livingston

Saturday night was magical.

Mission San Luis Obispo de Telosa

Our concert at the Mission went very, very well. The Mission was packed and in the front row sat Smitty and Jeanine, Josh and Heidi and Craig and AnnMarie. The latter two are very good friends of both Josh and I.

So I not only got to sing for Dan, I got to sing for all of them.

And afterwards we all headed out to a coffee shop just to talk to each other for awhile.

Did I say awhile? Two and a half hours later, my stomach hurting from laughing so much, I had to announce that I had to leave. I had to sing again the next day!

Now, my friend Josh is generally a quiet man. But he is SOOOOO easy to needle. And Craig and I have made it our mission in life to get under his skin. Well, at least embarrass him to death in public.

Joshua

We decided that Josh had married an angel with great powers of transformation. Josh was wearing slacks and a NICE sweater. And no hat. His beard was trimmed and his hair was cut. One year of marriage and the man is nearly unrecognizable.

So we spent a goodly amount of time praising Heidi.

Heidi

But then the conversation took its usual turn into Craig's stories. Most of them law related. But some having to do with his wife and his children.

AnnMarie's disbelief in the latest Craig story

And all along my new brother, Smitty, listened and laughed.

Smitty

It had been a very hard night for Smitty. He misses Dan as much as I do. To see him laugh was golden music to my ears. He had been so impressed with the choir and now he fit in with my friends.

Before Smitty left that night, he told a story about my mother. He was fairly itinerant when he was single. He was trying different jobs and different places. But he was Dan's best friend. So my mother, who had just taken up oil painting, painted a picture for him. He sent it on to his mother for safekeeping. The painting hung in her house until her death and then went to his sister's home where it hung for the next 15 years. Smitty didn't know where it had gone as it was in a room at his sister's house that he never went into.

Today I receive a large package from Louisiana. I don't know anyone in Louisiana. Well, I didn't until now.

It was a picture of Jonathan Livingston Seagull with the initials "BG" in the bottom left corner. BG=Barbara Gisvold, my mother.

Jonothan Livingston Seagull by Barbara Gisvold

My friends had no idea that my mother painted but they were amazed by Smitty's stories. He didn't tell any of us that it was on its way.

It was soooo fitting that Jonathan should be part of a conversation of three lawyers who came from different backgrounds but who all had to find their way to their niche in life. We all had to spread our wings and ignore the naysayers.

It was a night. What a night.

A Short Discussion

Today I went to talk to Dan.

Tonight we present our Christmas Concert at the Mission.

One year ago, Dan was there. Standing in the back on the left side. With all the ushers.

Tonight he won't be there.

So I went to talk to him about that.

I had just finished a wonderful 2 hour lunch with my friends from Bakersfield who came over for the concert. We had sat at a window seat at Steamer's and watched the ocean and the people on the beach.

We were two blocks from Dan.

So when I drove out of the parking lot, the car sorta just headed to Harloe.

I sat on the bench where we used to share our evening tea.

The Tea Bench

And I just talked to the place where we scattered his ashes.

Dan's iceplant

And I watched the ocean.

Pacific Ocean and Harloe Street

I told him to be at the concert. I think he heard me because when I left the car went to where Dan liked to be to think in the quiet.

The Monarch Butterfly preserve.

Butterfly Preserve

See the benches? That is where he sat. To think.

So peaceful and quiet.

I hope we pass that on to everyone tonight.

Dan would find that very important.

Smitty is here

He called yesterday to let me know that he and Jen were all snug in their room in Morro Bay and to give him a call when I was free.

But we had rehearsal. So I called and took them to the San Luis Obispo Farmer's Market. From there I could get to rehearsal at the Mission quickly.

The Farmer's Market is really a street party on SLO time. Food everywhere. Music on the side streets. All the stores are open and the vendors sell everything from soup to nuts (not an exaggeration!) And people meandering. Just strolling. Enjoying the sights and smells.

They loved it.

And the whole time we talked about Dan.

We talked about how rough this week has been.

We talked about their visit to Harloe Street where we had scattered some of Dan. (we laugh about Dan's "parts")

We stopped so I could grab a sandwich before rehearsal.

We talked and laughed.

We agreed to have them come by today and, when they did,  I took them up to a place in North County that I knew they would love. And they did.

Quiet, secluded, away from everyone and everything. We climbed a hill and viewed hills and valleys all around us. And we spoke of how Dan would have loved this space. This place of solitude.

Smitty and Jen will be at our concert tomorrow. They will be Dan's ears.

One Year Ago

One year ago, it was Thanksgiving. Dan was worried that he wouldn't be able to be with us. Truckers didn't always have a choice on where they were on any given day.

But he was here.

And no one wanted to cook. We had decided weeks before that we would go to a restaurant.

It took a while to find an restaurant open on Thanksgiving. But we did.

We arrived a little ahead of our reservation that day. But we still had to wait about an hour. It was miserable on Mel. Very few chairs and those were of wood. It is tough for a man with severe back problems to sit on an cushioned chair. Especially for a long period of time.

So we stood and wandered and talked. And I got a picture.

Jed, Dan and Melodie on Thanksgiving 2010

Then we sat for a magnificent dinner. I don't remember what we ordered. (there were choices!) But I remember talking and laughing and feeling that the meal was very special.

It is etched in my memory now. Less than 3 weeks later he was gone.

And that meal became so very, very special.

This year is so very different. Jed is in San Francisco. Melodie is in Visalia. So it is just Mel and I.

But we decided that Dan would appreciate our new plan.

Bacon and waffles. At home. Watching football.

Yeah, Dan would have liked that.

Oh, God, I miss him.