More Music

I was listening to a friend backstage tonight. She was saying how she wished her mother had come out for the California International Choral Festival. The choirs were all great and we were all having fun.

And my brain said, "I wish he was here"

He would have loved the international aspect. He would have loved the folk songs. And he would have been flattened by the talent that was on the stage.

In my mind, I can see him there.

Too tall to fit in the seats. Wearing jeans and his favorite cowboy style shirt. And hushpuppy shoes.

He would have talked to all the singers, no matter what their language.

He would have gone to every party and get together.

He would have wanted to learn as much as he could about the guys from the Philippines who actually worked in Saudi Arabia but had spent the last year or so touring in the United States.

He would have wanted to know all about the African customs that the Congo group brought with them.

Heaven forbid, he would still be there talking and learning and it is nearly midnight now.

But he would have sunk into the music, the sound, the vibration, the movement of it all. He would have become one with each and every note.

Yes, I wish he was here.

He is at Rest

Smitty, Jeanine, Melodie and I went to the end of Harloe street in Pismo Beach this morning. It was cool and foggy. A typical June day on the Pismo Beach cliffs.

We climbed through the fence that is meant to keep people off the crumbling bluffs. We stood on the ice plant and looked down onto the receding Pacific Ocean.

We talked about Dan. I showed them where his little apartment was.

We watched the waves roll in and out. We talked. Smitty apologized for not having talked to me for 38 years. I laughed at him.

I thanked him for being my brother now.

He told us that in every conversation that he had with Dan, Melodie and I were mentioned.

I gave him the tin that held the last bit of Dan's remains. We all cracked up. It was a Christmas tin with a Santa Claus on it. Totally inappropriate for anyone else. But not for Dan.

And Smitty scattered him in the ice plant. "I know where to come visit you now" was all he said.

And then we began to tell Dan stories.

Smitty was full of them. A beat up Volkswagon looking for a blues singer in Hamburg, Germany. Driving a 1953 truck without lights, at night, in California and being stopped by the CHP in 1971.

We stood there for an hour. And then we had to go.

But Dan is there. At the end of Harloe Street. Where he and I drank sassafras tea and solved the problems of the world.

He will rest there. And Smitty and I will visit him. And talk to him. And talk about him. And remember him.

My new brother and I will remember our old brother for as long as we live.

At the end of Harloe Street.

Band of Brothers

He found out that Dan was dead because he went looking for him on the internet. He was unable to reach him by phone and he was concerned. He didn't have any other family member's numbers so he went hunting. He found this blog. And he was devastated.

He had known Dan since 1970 when they met in Germany. Dan was in the Air Force and he was in the Army. They were both from the San Joaquin Vally. Dan from Lindsay and he was from Coalinga. The closest he ever got to Lindsay, before he met Dan, was in a high school baseball game in Tulare.

But being in the service in the 70's brought them together for a lifetime. For Dan's lifetime.

This is Smitty.

Smitty and his wife Janine (hope I spelled that right)

He could not make it to Camp Nelson for the Farewell. But he came here. To San Luis Obispo. To see me. To talk to me and my family. About Dan.

And talk he did.

He talked about hitting the skunk with my mother's car and my mom making them buy cases of tomato juice and scrubbing the undercarriage of the car with it. Then making them lunch.

He talked about hanging out in Sacramento.

He talked about Dan coming to visit him in Minneapolis.

He talked about Dan's intellectual curiosity.

He talked about Dan's love of music. He talked about how Dan talked about Vocal Arts. He promised to send me links to cd's that Dan had sent him.

He talked about how Dan could make a friend out of just about anybody.

He talked about how Dan was the most intelligent, smart, articulate truck driver on the planet.

Smitty talked for a long, long time. His very best friend, his brother was gone.

Smitty is coming to the Vocal Arts Ensemble rehearsal tonight.

Smitty has a new friend. It is me.

My Biggest Fan

I was reminded today that my brother was my biggest fan.

He once told me that I could go sell my body on a street corner if that was what I wanted to do. He might come beat the holy crap out of me but he would still be my biggest fan.

I never forgot that.

I will always know that my brother was ALWAYS there for me.

I know that he still is--in my heart and in my brain. Every morning as I still reach for the phone to call him, every night as I drive home past the stunning view of the Pacific Ocean meeting the shore at Pismo Beach.

He is always with me.

And yet, today, I miss him more than ever.

I miss his humor. I miss his wisdom. I miss his voice.

Oh, god, I miss his voice.

Keeping Safe

I was driving to work today. Minding my own business. Listening to something on the radio.

And I pass a semi-truck.

And Dan flashes in my brain.

Just a flash. Seeing him driving with his knees while he makes a turkey sandwich and talks to me on the phone. (Kinda scares ya, don't it?)

I kinda smile and go back to the minding my own business and listening to the radio. It is satellite and I have it on the Bridge or some such thing. I am more concerned with the Chevy that keeps speeding up and slowing down and the Kia that is so close to my bumper that I can tell the color of the driver's lipstick! (Back off, lady!)

And a Harley-Davidson motorcycle passes me. It is a man in full leather. Riding tall.

Dan and I on his Harley. He hadn't finished putting on his leathers.

My heart just does a little squeeze. He knew what he was doing and he was doing it well. So like Daniel.

Right behind that guy is a young guy on a small bike. No leathers. Hunched.

I am hoping his family never has to hear that he was scraped off the road.

I could hear Daniel screaming at him. Daniel was about being safe on the bike. He was about keeping everyone safe on the bike.

Somehow, even knowing that he was driving with his knees, I know he had every truck he drove safe.

Sometimes I dread driving anywhere. There are so many memories of him on the road. Every truck. Every bike.

I can't drive when I cry. So I just sorta smile.

Aftermath

I haven't been able to write about what I have been feeling. It is just under the surface and bubbling. It won't let go but it won't let me express it.

Some of it appears to be sadness. That makes sense. I miss my brother. I miss the time that I had with him. I miss talking to him. I miss being with him.

Some of it is hopelessness. There is a sense in me that it won't get any better. That the hole in my soul will never heal, never get smaller, never loosen its grip on me.

Part of it is joy. A true sense that I had a relationship with my brother that is rare and oh, so special. He was an individual, a one of a kind, a man with a heart and a head, a man with demons that I knew and that he helped me embrace. There is a great deal of joy that I embrace that relationship.

Part of it is anger. A real anger that there is such a thing as death. A real, honest, unbelievable anger that Dan is not coming back. Some of that anger is at myself for not doing or saying lots of things to and for Dan.

All of it makes for a crushing grief. A mixed bag of feelings and issues that I think I understand but truly don't.

The best explanation, the best way to see what it is that I feel is to look at the picture of Bill at the campfire circle at Camp Nelson.

We were trying to get snow covered wood to burn and, of course, it smoked a lot. But we all just stood our ground when it came our way. We stood and stared into the fire and kept our thoughts to ourselves

I asked Bill if the planning of the Farewell just made the hurting start all over again for him. It did.

I know he is feeling the same internal volcano that I am feeling now.

I miss my brother.

Farewell

The front of our cabin at Camp Nelson has looked the same for over 50 years. We tried to dress it up with a bit of flowers and some old chairs, but it is Camp Nelson, the place that every child in the family learned about "clean dirt". Camp Nelson dirt was not like dirt you got into at home. You didn't get yelled at for tracking it into the cabin. You were suppose to track it into the cabin.

Yesterday was suppose to be clear and cool at the cabin. It was most definitely cool. Clear? Not so much.

We gathered the day before--My brother Bill and his wife Kathy.

His four daughters, one of them with spouse and three children in tow. They all come from the Bay area. My two cousins. Patty from Mexico and David and his wife from near Sacramento. We sat 12 for dinner in a one room cabin. Cosy is sometimes a good word.

Then there was the "family" from Camp Nelson. People we had known all our lives. Lynnda from next door whose grandmother bought our family cabin and then sold it to my father to get it back in our family. Garrett, whose father grew up with me. Doug, who became a great friend over a campfire 35 years ago. They joined up for the traditional campfire and s'mores. And stories. So many stories.

Breakfast was to be at 8. If you have not had pancakes made with soda water you ain't had pancakes. Now it has to be Camp Nelson soda water right out of the spring. Bill, Dan and I refused to drink the stuff unless mom made a Lemon Fizz. Soda water, lemon juice (fresh) and sugar. Lots of sugar. The sugar made the soda water fizz. We thought it was cool. (Just don't use the soda water in scotch. The mineral content is so high that it reacts with the scotch and turns it black. Yuk!!)

Anyway, pancakes and bacon for god knows how many.

People came and went. Four cases of beer, 4 cases of soft drinks and 4 cases of water sat on the deck. We had 60 lbs of ice for them but, well, it started raining about 3 in the morning and about 10 it was snowing.

SNOWING!!! On Memorial Day!!!! The average temperature is usually in the high 70's. Jed only brought shorts. SNOW WAS NOT IN THE FORECAST!

Speaking of Jed, he had never been in a snowfall. He comes from the Central Coast. He never went to the snow. He was not an athlete so skiing was not his thing. He was a kid in a candy store.

And then, around 2pm Bill called the room to order. Fifty people in a small cabin to say Farewell to Daniel.

And everyone of them talked about his huge heart. Everyone talked about how he gathered friends. Everyone talked about how intelligent he was. "The smartest trucker I ever knew!" declared one of his nieces.

Melodie talked about how he tried to make her less serious by using the Fred and Ethel names. (See my Fred and Ethel post) She used the name as her on-line law school name because she was afraid she would give a stupid answer to a question. Turns out her professor complimented her on her answer!



Kathy Thompson told the story about Dan driving her and her girlfriend down the road at over 100 miles an hour and getting stopped by the local gendarme! Dan had to go in front of the local judge who was the father of Kathy's girlfriend!

I didn't know that story!

And our dear friend Jon Awbry told of the time that Dan found some short skis that Jon could strap to his full leg cast so they could still go skiing! Jon had just had surgery for a major break and had a pin in his leg! But up they went to Wolverton. And the first person they run into is the surgeon who put the pin in his leg! Just a little duct tape!

Jon told me privately later that he and Dan had "interviewed" my first "older" boyfriend. Apparently, Joe Kubicek got the third degree from Dan and Jon. He passed. I was allowed to date him AND Jon and Dan got him into DeMolay!

Another story I didn't know.

Dan's high school classmates showed up. Some from as far away as Vacaville. They told stories while we socialized and shared memories of our house in Lindsay and the many, many things that we all did together. It didn't matter what your age was. Sharon Moore, Donna Manuel, Mack Sprague, Bobby Hubbard, Susan McFadden. I am sure I have forgotten to mention someone. Please forgive me.

I told everyone there that Dan was my brother, my best friend and my confidante. Then I talked about his love of music.

Dan told me once that he was my biggest fan. And he was. I told all of them that.

I told them about wasting time pretending that he didn't exist when we were little.

And I played the Vocal Arts Ensemble singing Danny Boy.
http://youtu.be/pdgcLdNH9Lw

And then we took Dan to his favorite places.

The soda spring near the cabin.

And the camp fire ring.

Today we came home. It was sunny.

He has got to be up there laughing his ass off. Of course, he may have been busy taking care of bikers.