My Man(tis)...

...is a girl. I took delivery today of a remarkable piece of metal sculpture by my frien (the d is missing, because there is no "end" in friend) and favorite artist, Dion Wright. I love bugs. (Bug imagery, that is, not real bugs). The praying mantis is my favorite, though dragonflies are a close second.

Once I bought the "pod of mantis hatchlings" (called an ootheca) at the hardware store that hatches as many as 200 babies for garden pest control purposes. Seconds after they emerge, not only do they resemble the full grown adult in a miniature size, they are fearlessly curious, and wildly animated. They stare you down, first seeming to size you up for friendship, then trying to appear as menacing, capable and self-sufficient as possible. They are amazing!

Though I love every piece of Dion's art (which now totals six pieces, including Zot!) that I have in my home, I must admit that when I walked up on this piece, it was love at first sight. I'm honored to have her. For me, Dion is a legendary artist, author and intellect, and above all, a friend.

This afternoon I met Dion at his booth at the Sawdust Festival (a show he founded and has done for 50 years and where, as an exhibiting artist, I first met him in 1993). Here he is with his Mantis, which he created in 1973. She comes with history and a previous owner. For one reason or another, Dion regained custody and I was thrilled to hear it!

 Dion Wright - Laguna Beach - August 31, 2009

This piece validates my opinion that you can't really own art. You can only choose to share space with it while you're here and/or choose to let someone else enjoy it before (or after) you're gone. You've got an expiration date, and generally art does not (excluding ice and/or cheese sculptures).

Except in the case of art for investment's sake, any money that's changed hands in the transfer of art (that makes you think you own it) is really just rent, unless you intend to be buried with it. How long you live and how happy it makes you determines how good a deal it was. Dion's art is always a very good deal. If I keeled over today, my spirit and surroundings have been enriched by his work far beyond any amount of cash that was traded for the privilege of having it.

"My" Dragonfly - by Dion Wright 2004
(Anatomically accurate wing pattern...incredible!)

Good art manages to make an impact on others, while layering on a life and history of its own as it passes from the hands of its creator to its admirers (and sometimes back again). Though I didn't know the previous owner of "my" Mantis, the piece links us, and I respect that connection.

So, welcome home! We may name her Mantilda (my daughter's suggestion). I like it. I know the mantis won't mind.

There is No "End" in Frien

Ma Friens

You may have noticed the odd spelling of "friend" that occurs throughout this site. It's done on purpose. I thought I'd offer an explanation, just in case you'd like one.

The love I have for my friens is endless. My friens are additions to my life, never bring me down, and have agreed to join me in this musical comedy/dramedy, this animated cartoon, that is my life. I may disappoint them or get disappointed on occasion, but my love for them is never compromised by the occasional challenges. Thankfully, it seems they've given me the same consideration. Understanding what a gift that is, I decided a while ago that the word friend needed an adjustment, because for me, there is no "end" in frien.

My daughter holds a spot that transcends frienship. My husband enjoys unconditional love. I have other friens and family who also count as cherished, and you know who you are because you've probably worn a fez, a dog face, a mustache or lobster hat with me at some point.

(Identities Obscured to Protect the Innocent)

In addition, I have three very close "gurrfriens". (I'm sorry, I have no explanation for that typo. I also substitute the word "bofrien" for your man, even when you're married to him. When I refer to my husband as "my bofrien", he corrects me as though he's certain that I forgot we're married.)

(I apologize for my excessive use of extra words in parentheses. I don't know what else to do with the spillage.)

Anyway, these gurrfriens have been with me through the long haul and we've witnessed plenty together. 23 years, 25 years and 17 years of frienship = 65 years of history total. You can't get that any other way.

I feel truly known and accepted by these friens. Known; probably due to the way I blurt out my joys and sorrows in an unfiltered fashion. Accepted; I can't really figure out why I've been accepted, but I have a theory about a shmear that oozes out of me that gets on people sometimes. Once it's on you, it's like I'm being seen with a set of eyes that I whipped up in a laboratory somewhere and poked in your head to make you think I'm great. I'm not going to question it, I'm so grateful it's there. It works on children and animals too.

I've also had a tiny baby feather (complete with quill) grow out near my eyebrow once, a super long blonde hair grow out of the middle of my back in my 20s, and once I woke up to what looked like a hardened amber sap nodule coming out of a mosquito bite on my arm. I don't question these things or get alarmed, I just take note. None of those other things seem to have endeared me to anyone, however. It's the invisible ooze that has the power.

If there's a problem with my approach to frienship, it's this: Once I was lucky enough to find and love a few friens who also accepted me, I wasn't open to accepting applications for any new friens. Sometimes though, my shmear seems to escape my control and it gets on someone new, which is stressful.

Rather than explain my inherent hermit status and how life with my Asperger mate works, my joke is, "Thank you for your interest, I don't currently have any openings, but will keep your application on file if something comes up." I try to deliver it with enough humor to let them know it's not about them, as they are certainly deserving of the friendship of someone much better (and more available) than me. It's so sweet when people respond to that by saying something to the effect of, "Not only are you missing out on some wonderful relationships, but they're missing out on you!" I know they're right, which is why I admire my friens who still take applications for new friends.

I'm a "gregarious hermit", which is even more confusing to people I'm meeting for the first time. I was told that during my one visit to a psychiatrist who worked with people who've lost their homes and possessions to fire. After our house burned down due to Scott's EV1 (GM's electric vehicle, the one in the documentary "Who Killed the Electric Car"), I scheduled everyone for at least one therapy session to make sure we were all okay.

The fire was September 11th, 1999. My father died only two weeks before (six days before my parents 49th anniversary), my daughter was only four days into her senior year, my two 13-year old dogs had died a few months or so before (of old age, within weeks of each other). Then the house burned down, destroying a lifetime of material proof (art, photos, the handmade quilts my great-grandmother made out of squares cut from clothing we'd grown out of, etc.) that we existed and had history...oh, and Scott disappeared the day after that. (Remember that interesting life I mentioned? 1999 was a banner year.) I figured professional help might be in order. Guess what we learned? We were behaving normally for the stress we were under. That was good news. Pricey, but good. No medication or further sessions necessary.

So, as a gregarious hermit, I can pass for a totally socialized human. I truly love people...they're too interesting for me not to be fascinated by them. It's just that as I've gotten older, it's so difficult to bring a new acquaintance up to speed in my weird world. I already feel known and loved by friens and family...what more would I be looking for?

Plus, as your frien, I'm loyal...like a dog without separation anxiety. When you're somewhere else, I'm certain you're okay. When you appear in front of me again, time is contiguous...you were never gone. My love never wavers. You're with me all the way, and I like you there. I keep your spot open and intend to spend any available time with you rather than spend it developing new relationships.

I realize there are exceptions to the rule, like when someone enters my life in such a gentle fashion that I already love them before I realize they've weaseled their way in under the radar. Gaylin was one of those friens.

It seems if it's still possible to "weasel in", there must be some openings after all...

P.S. But hold on to your hat...it's a bumpy ride...

Gaylin - It's a Wrap...

Our dear Gaylin is gone.
June 19, 1926 - July 1, 2008

Allaboutjazz.com posted a great article about Gaylin's notable career in the movie business, which has sadly reached its final scene. You can see his IMDB biography here.

Those close to Gaylin Schultz watched as he fought the good fight while dealing with his cancer. As if the loss of his wife and best friend Marlene in 2005 wasn't challenging enough, there was also the constant battle with his health. With careful attention, he proactively took his treatments and visited his doctor when any new or unusual symptoms cropped up. He followed doctor's orders. Though he missed Marlene terribly, he managed to survive and transcend her loss, honoring her memory and their lives together.

I thanked him once for taking care of himself, knowing that wives were usually the force behind keeping their men healthy. Gaylin didn't see it as a choice. It was his duty if he wanted to stay around. He worked hard at beating cancer and staying healthy, and prolonged his life because of it.

We'd known him for about a year or so when I told him how much I enjoyed and valued him, and how I wished we'd met sooner. My comment must have been delivered with a sadness that revealed my concern for his health and mortality. He completely discounted my silly statement, telling me that he'd be around for a long time yet. He said we met while there's still plenty of time left for me to enjoy him. I wanted that to be true.

The last time we saw Gaylin was June 19th, his 82nd birthday. Scott and I could tell if he was on the island by checking for his bicycle (which I named Big Thunder). If it was parked outside of his house, it was the same as if a flag was flying, announcing his presence. Gaylin was an early riser, and we often met him at Joe's for breakfast by 6 a.m. He'd ride Big Thunder from his home on Eucalyptus to the little Vons, park it, and walk to Joe's. The three of us would have coffee together, and dine on one short stack of pancakes (which was two pancakes - see above: I'm eating the other half of Gaylin's and Scott gets his own pancake), sharing the "pure maple syrup" that Scott keeps at the restaurant.

He'd often tell us about his adventures on movie sets and travels (with Marlene along, of course) as a grip, which included stories about famous actors, directors and well known films. That day, Scott mentioned that the pancakes were exceptionally good and Gaylin said it was probably because it was his birthday. That's how we found out he was 82. I felt happy to know that he was celebrating the day on the island. After breakfast, we walked with him as he rode home on Big Thunder, knowing we'd see him again during the day.

Later that morning, my daughter and her husband visited the island. We were celebrating the fact that my son-in-law (a Marine serving his second tour of Iraq) had just arrived and was beginning his two-week leave. As we walked here and there, we saw Gaylin around town several times throughout the day, wishing him Happy Birthday each time. A few months before at breakfast I'd called him "Mr." Gaylin for some reason. Startled, he looked at me with perplexed surprise, explaining that his father always called him "Mr." Gaylin, even when he was a little boy. When we saw him again that day, I told him I had a special message from his dad which was, "Happy Birthday, Mr. Gaylin!" He nodded and waved as he watered his garden.

Though he seemed a little weaker than usual, he was as busy and industrious as ever, riding around town on Big Thunder, and relaxing in the harbor on his boat, Marlena. He was always busy inventing a way to improve something, even if he'd already invented it once and improved it twice before.

On Friday, I received a call letting me know that Gaylin suffered a setback with his last cancer treatment, and I called him immediately. At the beginning of the call he sounded very weak, but by the end, he sounded like Gaylin. I think he must have rallied just enough to convince me that he was going through a rough patch, but would be fine. He explained that his last treatment was Monday the 23rd, the beginning of a new series of cancer treatments. He said that after the treatment he had extra energy and did lots of chores on Monday and Tuesday. On Wednesday though, he was hit hard by the aftermath of the treatment. He fell down multiple times and was too weak to get up. He stayed in bed for 30 hours, trying to regain his strength.

He told me he knew he would need some help recuperating, and called a friend, who had stayed with him before under similar circumstances. She would arrive on Sunday. He said he had a doctor's appointment on Monday. He kept assuring me he'd be okay. I told him I thought Monday sounded a long way off for someone who felt as poorly as he did. "I'm feeling better," he assured me. "Do you want me to drive over right now? I will hop in the car this minute!", I said. "I'll even stay at the curb if you want. You can just wave at me through the window if you don't want me to come in, but you'll know I'm out there." "No," he said. "I'll take a rain check, but thanks for the offer, and for calling."

I spoke to Gaylin the next morning. Again, he assured me he was feeling better. I didn't anticipate that three days later when Monday came, it would be his last day. I set a "Gaylin" alarm on my phone that rang everyday at 8 a.m., reminding me to call him. I missed calling him Monday. When it rang Tuesday (church bells), I felt like it was Gaylin ringing my doorbell for a visit. He was the greatest. I'll miss him so much. I kept the alarm active for the rest of the month, taking that time each morning to remember the times we spent together and to think about him.

He'd told us many times that his nightly ritual was influenced by the years he'd spent on movie sets. His day ended promptly at 7:30 p.m., when he proclaimed out loud, "It's a wrap!", then it was off to bed. We imagined that his day's shoot was "in the can" and he would start shooting fresh in the morning.

Sadly, there's not another script, another set, or new creative challenges for the seasoned professional to conquer. Gaylin's story was one of the satisfaction of an interesting life doing exactly what he loved. It included the deep and lasting love of his wife, world travel, and a cast of characters who's affection, respect and friendship added depth and rich layers to the story of a remarkable man.

Gaylin changed me. Because of him, I know these things:

• That you can meet a person who instantly feels like family, yet they've lived their entire life without you in it.
  
  
• That the characteristics that define how valuable you've been in your professional life, also define how valuable you remain until the end of your days.
  
  
• That it's a comfort to have the "Gaylin" Mii in our Nintendo Wii game. He's still on our team in the virtual world and playing games with us. I'm happy that we played Wii bowling together and that his Mii looks just like him.
  
  
• That a stack of "rain checks" for dinners and visits to our mainland home doesn't guarantee they'll ever get used....but it's fun to imagine that they might have.
  


• That a custom-built-by-Gaylin outdoor table to keep our dog's food and water bowls in the shade is not ridiculous, but a pleasurable project, and can be impeccably completed by a man in his eighties only weeks before his death.

I miss you, dear frien...

Unplugged in the Galapagos

I've been back for a full week now. Back from the life-changing experience of a vacation in the Galapagos with my dear friend Karin. My intention is to go into detail, upload photos and such, but...we'll see. Between us, we've got over 1500 photos, each more beautiful, interesting, haunting, hilarious, and engaging than the next. How to choose a few representative examples?

This was our first experience traveling together, and it was a spontaneous riot of fun and laughter from the first second. (except when she beat me at Scrabble on the plane to Miami...I believe there was gloating...)


In the meantime, here's a photo of us with our new best friend, and the two videos that follow sum up the shenanigans and fun we had!

Here's the video that helped identify the source of a mysterious sound on our balcony deck...keep in mind that we're at sea, skirting the Galapagos Islands. You were only allowed to bring a total of 28 pounds of luggage, including the suitcase itself...

Here's KP pantomiming to the sound
(prior to solving the mystery)...

I love my frien KP! We were easy travelers.