Barb met a guy she wants to marry. I'm toast.

A photo of Barb's first meeting with the dude, ten minutes after they first met. Quite obvious why my marriage doesn't stand a chance of surviving. You think?

He was born a few weeks ago at a rural property just north of Los Angeles. During a three day span, he endured leaving his mom and family behind. Rode shotgun in a car for two hours through bumper-to-bumper traffic (normally a 30 minute drive) to a college campus near I-5. Then, in the back seat of a truck, took a five hour drive to the east Bay area. He stayed in a strangers house overnight before enduring yet another five hour drive, this segment from San Fran to Ashland.

He spent a night, the next morning, and part of the afternoon laying low while adjusting to his new surroundings. Something happened, though, around 3 PM on the third day causing him to start exploring his new home. Played with his new toys. The puppy part of him began to reveal itself.

Cooper is observant, cautious, curious, and loves to snuggle. He prances when he walks.

And yeah, I lied about the divorce part. Barb, Cooper and I are happily becoming a threesome. It took many months considering which dog to get. Then, a 1355 mile, four day journey to pick him up. Worth every minute of it. Am looking forward to the next stage.

Quick peek: audio editing desk

Took me long enough. Finally have my audio editing desk set up and ready to rock. A broadcast-quality combination of software and hardware for recording and editing voice recordings. Barb and I are finally ready to open our new hobby business! Ta da.

Oh, wait. I still need to build our Story Clips site. There's always something, isn't there? Fine. Will get back to you when we go live. 

We'll be offering three products: Whispers. Treasures. Moments. Each focuses on a narrow, significant part of life. Plus we provide the help needed to create a recording you will be proud to give to that someone special.

In the meantime, here's a sneak peak that gives you an idea of where we are headed.

A "Quick Build" TV Mount

For quite a while I have wanted to move our kitchen TV and sound bar higher (relative to seating and standing height), plus reclaim space beneath the TV. Finally got around to building what we wanted. For structural reasons I couldn't mount the TV to the wall, so had to chose a different path.

Below are before and after photos. Took both shots from roughly the same location to show the new difference in height. The before...

And after...

Here is what you now see when entering the kitchen. A better HDTV picture with little to no reflections. Sound is cleaner, has more concise mids and highs, with better bass. Plus, we now have useable space on the table. Still left to do is hiding the cords seen behind the table.


A quick note about construction. The list of stock materials needed is really short:
  • 2' x 4' sheet of 3/4" plywood (1)
  • 4' of 1.5" trim (1)
  • 2' of 3/4" trim (1)
  • Shelf brackets, two sizes. (4 total)
Only 8 pieces of wood are made from the stock material. To put it all together, though, will take:

25 cuts with a circular saw.
4 cuts with a jig saw.
8 cuts with a router.
15 holes drilled.
5 finishing nails driven.
2 plywood edges beveled with a wood file (to hide 2 brackets from view for a cleaner appearance).

That's 59 "things" you have to do for a simple project like this. Amazing. Look at the finished product above. Tiny. Uncomplicated. 

Think about this the next time you ask a carpenter to make a custom piece of furniture for you. It is always more complicated and involved than you would think.

And yes, even today I still sometimes curse my dad.

For teaching me so much about how to build and repair stuff. Life would have been so much easier, though much more expensive, if he hadn't taught me so damned many do-it-yourself-you-fricking-jackass skills.

Naw. Thanks dad. I wish more kids had the chance to grow up with a father like you.

 

Barb's one-song exercise routine

Because we are hunkered down trying to avoid the coronavirus, Barb and family have been sharing their home dance videos. For shits and giggles. Barb decided to put a twist on the concept, sharing but one exercise of a routine she once lead when we lived in Seattle, and for a while after we moved to Ashland. Yeah, she was one of those people at the front of the gym.

I have attached two videos we shot. Neither are anywhere near my usual video or audio quality (for various reasons not worth getting into). Though I really liked how the sub-woofer shook the camera on the tripod, causing jiggles in the picture that pulse to the music. Artsy fartsy. Almost makes up for the terrible recording. Not really, but that's what I keep telling myself so I don't feel lousy 

First, Barb will explain the steps that you'll need to know.

Next comes the exercise routine itself. It will take only four minutes of your day, so you have few (to no) excuses. See if you can keep up with a 67 year old girl. Holy shiteroo, I'm gonna take a load of crap for that comment. So at the very least, enjoy yourself. At my expense.
/g

Ashes leap into crypt, a voice from beyond heard.

Mom's ashes were placed in a crypt at Tahoma National Cemetery on October 7, where she rejoined her husband of sixty-three years. Their deaths arrived nearly fifteen years apart, and I know mom would say her final day did not come a moment too soon.

Mom didn't like the idea of living to be 100 years old. She got her wish, barely, passing away five hours before the century clock hit midnight. I always joked with friends (though not entirely a joke) that in her latter years mom looked to be 170 years old... but if you closed your eyes and listened, you would swear you were talking with a thirty-five year old.

That's mom's voice at age 89. The flow of the clips seem a tad jagged, but there is a reason and will address that seemingly glaring audio-editing glitch below.

Mom planned and arranged her funeral, making it abundantly clear to family that her service was to be small and quick. No dallying around. My sister, Jan, placed mom's ashes in the crypt with dad's while a few close family members and friends served as witness.

To celebrate mom's life and death, per her wish we had lunch together. Well, before going further I should disclose that more than a few times mom told Barb that she wanted the family to cheer her death. No kidding. Mom's desire became a double-secret, whispered pact between the two of them (I once overheard them talking). Mom's wish was a surprise to those attending lunch. But Barb, who considered mom to be her mother as mom thought of Barb as her daughter, dutifully created that cheer and rang it out for all.

In 2008, 2010, and 2018, Barb and I visited mom with intent to record aspects of her life. Fearing my presence would have an effect on what mom said (plus, I selfishly wanted to be surprised), I set up the recording gear and left Barb and mom alone to talk. The recordings were stored - for what became a decade. The first time I heard them was two weeks after she died. To say the least, it was quite a moving experience.

After recovering from laughing, pondering and feeling sad, decided to edit her stories and advice into three versions. The short version (above) was played during the lunch so family and friends could hear mom's voice once again, plus it gave them a faint idea of what they were about to receive. The shortest version is intentionally sparse so the context of the clips heard didn't give away mom's plot. Every family in attendance received their copy of June, mom, Au-Mama, or Cookie's full recording, which includes stories of family history and more. That version is intended solely for close family and friends, running 65 minutes long. If you fit the description, shoot me an email and I'll figure out a way to get a copy to you.

The version below is what I decided to call the June Essentials. It has mom's views and advice about faith, marriage, relationships, legacies, and also includes her "parting words". The playbill below the recording lists the subjects covered and their location within the recording.

By the way, look near the bottom of the playbill to see the "cover photo" selected for the recording. It portrays the essence of mom and dad's personalities. Ya think? 

I hope you enjoy hearing my mom's voice, and her stories.


Great quote about Cookie grandma. And a realization.

Barb's mom called this morning to talk about mom’s passing. I should set the stage, however, so you will sense the double entendre within the quote.

In our family the grandkids named their grandparents.
My dad was Grandpa.
Barb’s dad is Wrinkle Free.
Barb’s mom is Roller Skate.
My mom was Cookie.

How did each grandparent name spring to life within a child's mind? Use your imagination.

So, back to the quote. While talking about Cookie grandma, Roller Skate said:

“She wrote her own recipe.”

Wow. Indeed. 

On a related note, and at risk of being judged a thoroughly inappropriate son, I haven’t stopped smiling since hearing news of mom’s death. I know, I know. What kind of a shit-head admits to anything so despicable? My mom is gawd-damned dead. I’m supposed to feel really, really sad. Surround myself with a somber shroud. Should speak reverently, and in hushed tone, of the dearly departed. But I can’t. Have been smiling constantly, ear to ear, for hours and as always, slept great last night.

We mourn a violent or sudden death. Wish for a gentle, natural death. But is there really much difference? Nearing the end of her life, my mom could barely see, hear or taste. She spent the last 6 months in what is essentially a small closet without light, whose door opened sparingly. It seems so unfair.

No more. Her burden is gone. She’s free. Mom is mom again. There, wherever the hell there is.

That’s why I haven’t stopped smiling since yesterday afternoon. Am unbelievably happy, for mom and dad.

Mom kicks Ed's butt. Ed smiles. What else are friends for?

Ed McConkey, my friend going on north of fifty-plus years, had a choice to make that morning.

He could climb to the top of a mountain on an exposed trail, as planned, with a lightning storm hell-bent on raging over him, which wasn't planned, or he could drive two-plus hours through awesomely horrific Seattle traffic to visit my mom - whom Ed considers a second mom because he, by all practical definitions plus some, virtually lived with our family while the two of us were growing up.

Which path did he choose to conquer on that misty gray morning? I'll quote Ed's succinct message as received:

"Hi Glenn. I think I upset your mom. Not sure she ever figured out who I was. She finally got irritated with me and threw me out. She is still a fiesty one."

Yes, that is (liquid) Coke you see streaming from my nose. Clearly, a mountain top would have been an easier better safer choice. What's getting struck by a lightning bolt compared to paying respects to a hyper-cranky, all of 93 pounds century-old bag of recalcitrant bones?

Chalk up the victory to both Ed and mom. Over the next couple days my sister will explain to mom that Ed had visited her and depending on when that happens my mom will, never, vaguely, or precisely remember him fondly. Mom always thought Ed was the one who kept me from getting into even more trouble than I caused while messing around with only my whims and the eight and a half bucks in my pocket to answer to.

She'll conveniently forget that Ed was driving during two of the three auto accidents I have been in, or that Greg was wheelman as we raced through darkening twilight on a winding two-lane Hood Canal road so we and a few friends could, because why the hell not, throw M-80 fire crackers through each others open car windows on a July evening, whereupon Greg (and I, as Unlicensed Bomb Ignighter) accidentally discovered how to move a large rock seven feet further from the roadside using the nose of his dad's new 1966 Mustang 2-door coupe, decked out in bright red paint like the Ford ads touted on the four TV channels available at the time. Holy rabbit ears.

But enough grousing about how I was deemed the irreverent one who forever tilted performance and philosophy towards the cusp of arrest. The subject in dire need of address is: 

Why I don't deserve the friends who surround my life.

Am pretty sure adopting the "I'm undeserving of my friends" belief is Barb's fault. Had she not mentioned one day that my friends were inordinately compassionate, smart, plus funny, too, I never would have wasted a moment reflecting on what a great bunch they are.

To be clear, having friends who look, think, and act as I do is not be avoided. However, to become a better person I must constantly challenge (and indeed, attempt to destroy) all beliefs and presumptions I possess at the moment. In essence, I should strive to become my most brutal critic.

Please note: My friends are a diverse group by intent.

Also note: I am horribly, inexcusably good at not keeping in touch with my friends. 

Mom, a trip to the hospital. Us, a trip from Oregon to Everett.

Mom was recently sent to a hospital because of an abdomen infection. Doctors explained her diagnosis and treatment options. Complicating the decision is mom wasn't able to participate.

I know friends who have made decisions about a parents care. Are you choosing what your parent would want, or are you choosing what you prefer? It's never easy. Family members may disagree, leading to chaos.

Fortunately, Jan (who has power of attorney), Barb and I were unanimous about the treatment choice. As are the grandkids.

We held a birthday party for mom at the hospital, two weeks before her 100th birthday. We brought one of mom's favorites.... a small lemon meringue pie.

Mom is now back home at a care facility. We don't know what comes next. We don't know how long she will live. Life and death is complicated.

---------

Will mention one moment that happened at the hospital. Mom's granddaughter, Carly, flew up from Oregon to visit her grandma. It was important to Carly that she do so.

You see, Carly didn't always make the best decisions while growing up, leading to some extremely difficult times. Throughout, mom was in Carly's corner. No matter where that corner was found. Never judgmental. Offering unwavering support and encouragement. For years, endless. Mom wrote so many letters, Carly felt mom was a personal newspaper columnist who talked only to her. Of course, Carly is grateful for all who supported her.

But to Carly, cookie grandma is that irreplaceable person in her life.

So it was a bittersweet moment to see Carly approach mom in the hospital bed. Carly had a huge smile on her face, while buckets of tears flowed from her eyes. Mom smiled at Carly, and proceeded to to talk at length about how much she loved Carly, and how important it is to be unconditionally supportive of family.

I will not mention further what Mom and Cookie Grandma said to Carly, Barb, Jan and I on that day, preferring it remain in our memories. Will instead allow you to share in that moment with a photo.