Dan snuck into court one time and watched me. Scared the pants off of me as I was walking out.
He was fascinated by what I did. Hell, he was fascinated by a lot of things. It was his basic intellectual curiosity.
We weren't doing anything big that day. I think I had a client sentenced in a misdemeanor and I continued another case. Just the day to day stuff.
He never got to see me in trial. It was something that he wanted to see. He wanted to see me do a voir dire of a jury and deal with DA's and judges under the constraints of the Code of Civil Procedure and the Evidence Code. He couldn't imagine me holding my tongue or not being snide. But in a court room I USUALLY behave.
He would have loved today when the judge handed the DA and I her "Rules of Court" and told us both to follow her rules of comportment. "Have I ever comported myself? I asked. "We can always hope" she answered.
God, Dan would have rolled over laughing!
Yeah, he probably is right now.
Dan
Dan Gisvold at Bear Creek
Monday, March 14, 2011
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Habits
The first thing that I would do when I got in my car on a work morning (well, after I put on my seat belt, plugged in the phone, and started the car...) was call Dan. It was a daily ritual.
He would say, "Oh, it's you..." and I would say, "Where are you?"
Every work day.
He would tell me where he was and where he was going. He would tell me what kind of a load he had. He would tell me what time he started that morning and what time he expected to end.
I would tell him how many appearances I would have that morning. What kind of cases I was dealing with and with what judges and prosecutors.
Some days (rare) he wouldn't want to talk. He would be grumpy about something. I could usually get him to rant about whatever was bothering him. He said that always helped.
If I didn't want to talk he knew I was on that planet called trial preparation and he would leave me alone. Sometime he would go off on a rant just to make me pay attention to something other than what was going on in my brain. Sometimes it worked.
Today wasn't an official work day but I went into the office cuz I have a trial on Monday. I put on my seat belt, I plugged in my phone, I started the car and I started to hit the auto dial button.
Dan's number is still there. I can't take it off and I won't. At least not yet. Not for awhile.
I can't talk to him on the phone but we had a great conversation in my head today.
Thanks, Dan.
He would say, "Oh, it's you..." and I would say, "Where are you?"
Every work day.
He would tell me where he was and where he was going. He would tell me what kind of a load he had. He would tell me what time he started that morning and what time he expected to end.
I would tell him how many appearances I would have that morning. What kind of cases I was dealing with and with what judges and prosecutors.
Some days (rare) he wouldn't want to talk. He would be grumpy about something. I could usually get him to rant about whatever was bothering him. He said that always helped.
If I didn't want to talk he knew I was on that planet called trial preparation and he would leave me alone. Sometime he would go off on a rant just to make me pay attention to something other than what was going on in my brain. Sometimes it worked.
Today wasn't an official work day but I went into the office cuz I have a trial on Monday. I put on my seat belt, I plugged in my phone, I started the car and I started to hit the auto dial button.
Dan's number is still there. I can't take it off and I won't. At least not yet. Not for awhile.
I can't talk to him on the phone but we had a great conversation in my head today.
Thanks, Dan.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Tsunami
My morning routine has me on my computer with a cup of coffee right after the dogs are fed. I get the news, check my email, look up my Facebook account etc.
This morning I stopped with the news. I watched in horror and disbelief as Japan and its people suffered from the power of the earth.
I listened in fear at the words from our local government that began to list areas of evacuation and closure in my town in preparation for the tsunami that was coming this way.
My first thought when the warnings came out was that Dan lived in Pismo Beach. On the beach and that he needed to get out of there.
But he wasn't there. The moment was horrid. I didn't know what to do with my thoughts, my emotions. So I sat and watched and cried.
I cried for Japan and I cried for me.
The tsunami came and went. It was very small here. But what I felt was not.
I watched the news tonight. I didn't cry. But my sadness remains. I am sad for the Japanese people and all who are affected by such devastation. There are so many who are suffering extreme loss. I can only hope that they can find ways to live through the pain.
They are in my thoughts. I am sure they would be in Dan's as well.
This morning I stopped with the news. I watched in horror and disbelief as Japan and its people suffered from the power of the earth.
I listened in fear at the words from our local government that began to list areas of evacuation and closure in my town in preparation for the tsunami that was coming this way.
My first thought when the warnings came out was that Dan lived in Pismo Beach. On the beach and that he needed to get out of there.
But he wasn't there. The moment was horrid. I didn't know what to do with my thoughts, my emotions. So I sat and watched and cried.
I cried for Japan and I cried for me.
The tsunami came and went. It was very small here. But what I felt was not.
I watched the news tonight. I didn't cry. But my sadness remains. I am sad for the Japanese people and all who are affected by such devastation. There are so many who are suffering extreme loss. I can only hope that they can find ways to live through the pain.
They are in my thoughts. I am sure they would be in Dan's as well.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
There are times when I wish I was a "real" writer. That I could describe to you what I see in my mind when I think of Dan.
I can tell you that he walked with a long, loose, lanky stride. His extra long arms always swinging. He never stomped---he kind of walked like you would imagine an elf walking. He barely touched the earth. He had someplace else to go.
When he sat, he slouched. He didn't fit in a chair. He was all corners and angles and a chair had curves and spaces that didn't fit his body. He always looked awkward when he was seated in a chair. But he sat a horse beautifully.
He climbed into a truck with a grace that astounded me. I wanted to say like a monkey but it was smoother than that. It was hours and hours of practice. It was moving only when necessary.
When he would finally sit to watch television or a movie at my home he always chose the couch where he could stretch out. This disturbed the dogs mightily as he took up ALL the space that was normally theirs. I can see his long legs, sans boots, hanging over the end of the couch. His head on a cushion at the opposite end. And as he watched, he would twist his right ear.
Dan twisted his right ear as a child and it was a habit he continued for his whole life. It became his trademark.
Tonight that is how I see him. Sprawled on my couch, twisting his ear, dogs whining at him.
I wish you could see what is in my mind.
I can tell you that he walked with a long, loose, lanky stride. His extra long arms always swinging. He never stomped---he kind of walked like you would imagine an elf walking. He barely touched the earth. He had someplace else to go.
When he sat, he slouched. He didn't fit in a chair. He was all corners and angles and a chair had curves and spaces that didn't fit his body. He always looked awkward when he was seated in a chair. But he sat a horse beautifully.
He climbed into a truck with a grace that astounded me. I wanted to say like a monkey but it was smoother than that. It was hours and hours of practice. It was moving only when necessary.
When he would finally sit to watch television or a movie at my home he always chose the couch where he could stretch out. This disturbed the dogs mightily as he took up ALL the space that was normally theirs. I can see his long legs, sans boots, hanging over the end of the couch. His head on a cushion at the opposite end. And as he watched, he would twist his right ear.
Dan twisted his right ear as a child and it was a habit he continued for his whole life. It became his trademark.
Tonight that is how I see him. Sprawled on my couch, twisting his ear, dogs whining at him.
I wish you could see what is in my mind.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Concerts
Dan loved the Vocal Arts Ensemble concerts. He was in awe of the sound that we produced, the control, the clarity. He was always amazed at the feeling that we all exuded around and over the music that we sang.
When he was in Montana I always sent him a DVD of our performances. He would watch them and even critique them occasionally.
When he saw his first concert in person he was blown away. He had no words to express the difference in feeling from the DVD to the concert itself. Once he was here in California he did not miss a concert. He often served as an usher in order to see peoples faces and interact with them before and after the concert.
On April 20, 2011 VAE will travel to Santa Cruz to sing with the Santa Cruz Chorale. My brother Bill and his wife Kathy plan to be there.
It will be the first concert the Vocal Arts has given since Dan died.
This one is gonna be very hard.
When he was in Montana I always sent him a DVD of our performances. He would watch them and even critique them occasionally.
When he saw his first concert in person he was blown away. He had no words to express the difference in feeling from the DVD to the concert itself. Once he was here in California he did not miss a concert. He often served as an usher in order to see peoples faces and interact with them before and after the concert.
On April 20, 2011 VAE will travel to Santa Cruz to sing with the Santa Cruz Chorale. My brother Bill and his wife Kathy plan to be there.
It will be the first concert the Vocal Arts has given since Dan died.
This one is gonna be very hard.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Staying Clean
We have all seen them. Or rather smelled them. Long haul truckers who have only been around only themselves for awhile. The stereotype in our head is that they are overweight, slovenly, dirty, and less than intellectual giants.
Everything that Dan was not.
One of the things that Dan learned in long hauling was that you had to know the GOOD truck stops. It didn't just have diesel. It didn't just have a restaurant. It had to have showers. And good showers at that. Nothing with just lukewarm water. They had to be clean and well attended. No mold in the corners for Dan.
It constantly amazed me that grimy, moldy showers were the standard fare. I began to understand why Dan would wait a day or two to take a shower because he would have showered a pet snake in most of the places on the road. Actually, some may have been living there already!
So when ever he found a good place he would try to make sure it was on his next pass through the area. If he had to miss it, he would not socialize with people until he could get a shower. He was kind of sensitive about it.
He wouldn't even let me hug him when he came off the road until he had a shower. And he cleaned up really well.
Here is the last picture ever taken of Dan. It was taken in the rest stop where he died. He had just taken a shower and was taking a picture of himself in the mirror. He was really clean.
Everything that Dan was not.
One of the things that Dan learned in long hauling was that you had to know the GOOD truck stops. It didn't just have diesel. It didn't just have a restaurant. It had to have showers. And good showers at that. Nothing with just lukewarm water. They had to be clean and well attended. No mold in the corners for Dan.
It constantly amazed me that grimy, moldy showers were the standard fare. I began to understand why Dan would wait a day or two to take a shower because he would have showered a pet snake in most of the places on the road. Actually, some may have been living there already!
So when ever he found a good place he would try to make sure it was on his next pass through the area. If he had to miss it, he would not socialize with people until he could get a shower. He was kind of sensitive about it.
He wouldn't even let me hug him when he came off the road until he had a shower. And he cleaned up really well.
Here is the last picture ever taken of Dan. It was taken in the rest stop where he died. He had just taken a shower and was taking a picture of himself in the mirror. He was really clean.
 |
| All Clean. |
Thursday, March 3, 2011
My Happy Place
When I think of Dan I immediately think of two things: trucks and Camp Nelson. Most folk know about big trucks but very few have any idea about Camp Nelson. So here is some background.
Camp Nelson is in the Sierra Nevada mountains of California. It is nestled in the Sequoia National Forest (not to be confused with the Sequoia National Park which is also part of the Sequoia National Forest) just above the towns of Porterville and Springville. It sits at an altitude of 4700 feet above sea level.
It is the natural home to scrub oak, ponderosa pine, manzanita, California black bear, dear, mountain lion, ground squirrels, gray tree squirrels, rattlesnakes, king snakes, limestone and granite rock formations, natural mineral water springs and a host of other critters, growths, and outcroppings.
For my family it was a home away from home and it was, and still is, our happy place.
Our cabin was off the beaten path. Turn to the right just past the stables, go over the hill, stay to the right and go to the end of the road. There we were- along with people we had known all our lives.
Our cabin had a fire circle. We had an open space where sparks wouldn't get into the trees and our great-grandmother built a rock fire pit there. It was near a Monterey Pine that she had brought up the mountain in the early 20's and planted and nurtured along with her irises.
It was around that fire pit that our family and the neighbors would gather in the evening for a campfire. We would roast marshmallows and we would sing. My father was a singer. He had a beautiful tenor voice and he would sing "My Wild Irish Rose" and "It's a Long, Long Trail". He insisted that we all sing. And we did. And we loved it.
I remember Dan when I think of all of this. I see his face when he was 10 and Francis Ferguson would chase him around the yard singing "Danny Boy" to him. I have to tell you she was accompanying herself on her accordion. The look on Dan's face was priceless. (It is why I introduce the VAE rendition of Danny Boy to him---I left out Francis Ferguson)
I see his face when he was a teenager just coming back from a fishing foray. I see his face early in the morning with the gray squirrels would wake us up just as the sun rose. I see his face as he played cribbage with Dad.
Yes, Camp Nelson is my happy place. But right now I can't go there.
Camp Nelson is in the Sierra Nevada mountains of California. It is nestled in the Sequoia National Forest (not to be confused with the Sequoia National Park which is also part of the Sequoia National Forest) just above the towns of Porterville and Springville. It sits at an altitude of 4700 feet above sea level.
It is the natural home to scrub oak, ponderosa pine, manzanita, California black bear, dear, mountain lion, ground squirrels, gray tree squirrels, rattlesnakes, king snakes, limestone and granite rock formations, natural mineral water springs and a host of other critters, growths, and outcroppings.
For my family it was a home away from home and it was, and still is, our happy place.
Our cabin was off the beaten path. Turn to the right just past the stables, go over the hill, stay to the right and go to the end of the road. There we were- along with people we had known all our lives.
Our cabin had a fire circle. We had an open space where sparks wouldn't get into the trees and our great-grandmother built a rock fire pit there. It was near a Monterey Pine that she had brought up the mountain in the early 20's and planted and nurtured along with her irises.
It was around that fire pit that our family and the neighbors would gather in the evening for a campfire. We would roast marshmallows and we would sing. My father was a singer. He had a beautiful tenor voice and he would sing "My Wild Irish Rose" and "It's a Long, Long Trail". He insisted that we all sing. And we did. And we loved it.
I remember Dan when I think of all of this. I see his face when he was 10 and Francis Ferguson would chase him around the yard singing "Danny Boy" to him. I have to tell you she was accompanying herself on her accordion. The look on Dan's face was priceless. (It is why I introduce the VAE rendition of Danny Boy to him---I left out Francis Ferguson)
I see his face when he was a teenager just coming back from a fishing foray. I see his face early in the morning with the gray squirrels would wake us up just as the sun rose. I see his face as he played cribbage with Dad.
Yes, Camp Nelson is my happy place. But right now I can't go there.
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