An Inventory of A Life

The article entitled “Die-Pressed Wooden Medals & Plaques of The 1876 Centennial Exposition” beginning on page 65 may mean more to me than any other living person. I helped its author over the course of a decade in his research of this passion he had. I heard of each new find. I supported each strange question about his computer. In a way, I was very like AI assistants for that project – before they really existed. Effortless patience, immense support, and lots of

commitment to a world I didn’t understand or need to. I loved him as a mentor to me as well. He and I had constant deep communications around the goings on in our lives – just sitting in front of a computer while working on whatever list of questions he had. He passed away last year, and invited me and my family to say farewell to him. Sitting by his bedside at that last visit, he said so many kind things about me to my family, but he and I didn’t say much to each other – except

reassurance for our equal readiness – and a goodbye.

This was my boutonniere at my brother’s wedding. Which one? I don’t know – they got married during COVID, and then had a second event the following year – I was lucky enough to go to both. My dad made them a wonderful wedding gift, a giant Jenga game. He sent out the pieces to the guests for them to decorate. I may be a little bit of a trickster, though as I still have mine – decorated in the moment, but waiting to be an anniversary gift.

Maybe, as my family reads this to offer me feedback they will mention it to me. Maybe my brother will have his question answered about why their Jenga isn’t quite complete. And maybe – just maybe – I should ask my mom what date their wedding was so I can actually give it to them on their anniversary.

I remember the day, and the events that preceded my finding the letter. My work is for a small company and I walked into a coworkers office after lunch to discuss an assignment. Instead of him, I found the words “I’m resigning, effective immediately.” This was punctuated by his signature and his key. “He’s gone” I said and another co-worker said “Yeah, he went to lunch.” I held up the letter and said “No, he’s GONE.” One of the things about a small business is that you may get to be

friends – and we had. I was confused, so I called him to see if I could help. He informed me that he could no longer even speak to the owner. Bridges were burned. But the truth was we needed him, so I stepped up and negotiated a deal in which he would only speak to me about assignments and tasks and would work from home. It was approved in one of the hardest professional conversations I have had - “He just doesn’t want to talk to you.” I had to tell my other friend, the owner.

March 25, 1998 – A picture of me is within the newspaper. Standing there, with a guitar for a Variety Show – black t-shirt – with the rest of my hard rock band, and… a yodeler. We were asked to play our song and then remain on stage to pretend to be her backup band. Of course we were all superficially incensed by the degradation, but each of us are smiling in the picture. I assure you that we never told each other it was fun and silly and us big bad metalheads liked it – but we did.

Secrets aren’t needed many times, because they reveal themselves anyway. Plus, the truth is, she was a better yodeler than we were a band.

My wife and I were unsure we would ever have a child. It was either to be or not, and then those realities collapsed to one – a positive test. I was shocked, and asked for another – in retrospect this made me look like an asshole, but it was only in surprise and worry. Would I be a good father? Could I support the family? Am I ready for this? This picture is when I met him before he met me. Maybe if you see him someday you can ask him those questions if you care to know the answers.

I have been told various versions myself, by him and others. Yet the only answer I know is in my heart – Yes to all three.

several young teens are sitting in a classroom painting. I am one of them – this was my 8th grade art class. I remember this class well. One day I was talking to my friends at the table, a joke began and it couldn’t be stopped. We laughed and laughed. And it was riotous. My teacher took me into the hall and looked into my eyes deeply with anger. “If I could, I would send you on an elevator to the moon! Calm down!” It’s funny, though, many years later she called me for computer

help and we talked about that day – she still remembered it and we actually become good friends. She too has passed away, but when I drive by her house I remember visiting and helping, and seeing her studio – an artist at work and a teacher and a student all in one.

print is fading, a selection of notes:

• CHRVCHES – June 10, 2014 – Mom joined me, it rained. It was beautiful.
• Koyaanisqatsi Live – Oct 1, 2003 – Dad joined me, it didn’t rain. It was beautiful.
• Nick Cave – June 24, 2003 – Mom and Dad joined me. I was singing along too loud.
• The Flaming Lips – April 29, 2003 – someone offered me Jager from the bottle, sure I said. I got lucky it was just Jager.

• NOLA Jazz Fest – 2003 – I went with my dad. My cousin taught me a clever trick – to clean out a suntan lotion bottle and put alcohol in it.
• The Legendary Pink Dots – June 16, 2000 – What a band – what a show.

A small handmade “address book” the size of a credit card. There was a period of time where this was essential – the world was moving to cell phones and the internet, but I (still to this day) have not had a personal cell phone. It was a challenge to keep in touch with people. I guess that hasn’t changed. I remember about most, but not all, of these names, and wonder if any of the numbers still work. I consider texting one, but it’s late and I realize – I didn’t

even bother with writing down area codes. I look up a number and a name – and a memory returns. I was camping with some friends after a breakup. We were underage and drinking, and we got caught. It worked out because my bucket list had been to see the Northern Lights and to get arrested. This number, though, was the volunteer coordinator at the Franklin Park Conservatory. For my heinous act, I was sentenced and allowed to pick my punishment. My service was to the

butterflies – literally. An exhibit was underway, and I was taught how to handle and care for the delicate creatures. You use your index finger and middle finger and close them on their own closed wings. I cleaned their environment. Families wondered at their beauty without even knowing they were in the same room as a hardened criminal.

The Western Wall Heritage Foundation – This is provided to visitors of the Western Wall in Jerusalem. I had the wonderful chance to visit the Wall and old Jerusalem thanks to my work. I am not sure about religion, and doubly unsure about politics, but that place is special in the history of us all. Someday I hope the people of the entire region find the peace they deserve. On that day I lit a candle in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher – not for me – but for my aunt who was

fighting cancer. I returned to the hotel to find a message that she had passed.

In my work with government agencies, I have a need to visit a lot of places. Secure places. Many of those buildings have non-activated Visitor Badges – laminated statements of intent. You are normally supposed to return these, and “supposed to” may be a light term. For some reason that I cannot explain, they attract me. The people I meet, the places I go, the feeling of the laminated tag, the logos. If I were to keep a journal it would

take a thousand words or more to remind me of what just one of the tags reminds me of. Think of it like a programmatic token – training myself for recall. Needless to say – some of them don’t get returned.