My wife’s Aunt Janet passed over the weekend.

She was a kind, generous, and adventurous woman that will be missed.

so i’ve had my lil soapbox to post my thoughts on for a few months now, but i have to say  i’m not really happy w/ my blog here lol.

i’m thinking i’m prob gonna start new or scrap all the old content on here. i’m mostly frustrated b/c i dont seem to have the time i want to be able to just come here and type.

so instead of being a fun and soothing experience, my poor blog site has only served to sadden and irritate me.

now, w/o further BS-filled ado, i bid u farewell til i figure out what hobbies i have time enough for to really enjoy and pursue.

1/sbf

Each year the saddest month
Approaches like a thief
Robbing my tranquillity
Leaving me with grief

I need not tell directly
The truth within these lines
Thirty-one days of sorrow
Held in it’s design

The first full month of autumn
The leaves began to fall
She left that cold gray morning
I can vividly recall

The tail lights fading quickly
Her car speeds up the road
My eyes are deep and misty
A tragedy bestowed

A kiss absent is fading
That was our last good-bye
I thought it would be different
We vanished with a sigh

For we talked of reuniting
A tomorrow coming soon
Discussing the arrangements
For the moment opportune

In our youth we didn’t notice
The wishful thinking of our hearts
Now our memory is fading
The dissolution starts

In short time we simply fade away
She’ll rarely cross my mind
Until the anniversary
Finds me to remind

Early on the sixth day
My life’s dramatic turning
Though time erased the suffering
My heart still feels a yearning

The month within the stanzas
Of the poem you just read
The sum is a solution
Of my final clue imbed

Copyright © 2001 by Jake Olden Shy

This past Monday was the final official travel day for the “Spamalot” tour! Because we have a lay-off coming up next week everyone will be coming in to Costa Mesa from different places, so the travel to Tucson was the last time we were all (for the most part) traveling together. It was sort of bittersweet, actually, as much as I hate the air travel and airports and the hassle of travel day. You couldn’t ask for a better-natured group of people to travel with. We always have a lot of fun, even in the most tedious of travel days.

Vanessa Sonon at the airport

We arrived in Tucson late in the afternoon on Monday – I picked up my rental car and headed downtown to my rental apartment in the Armory District. It is an old apartment building – built in 1903 when everything in that area was military housing. It is charmingly decorated and bright and cheery. I have been very happy there this week – so much better than staying in a hotel! Tallulah has slowly been getting used to not having her LA patio. She has been very happy lounging in the sun room and has not been crying at the front door (like she did in San Diego).

Tucson living room

Tucson bedroom

I really didn’t do anything on Monday evening except go to the grocery store. I was so tired after the travel day that I crashed early. Tuesday was load-in. The theater, the Tucson Music Hall, is part of the big convention center, which is conveniently located only a couple of blocks from my apartment. The theater is spacious enough, although the dressing room space is quite cramped. There’s not much theatrical work in Tucson so our local crew has been quite a mixed bag. There were a few melt-downs during the opening night performance, and our two local prop guys still have not learned their cues (as I type this on the day of our closing performance), but otherwise the shows have been smooth and uneventful. This marks Christopher Gurr’s final week as King Arthur (he has been filling in for John O’Hurley who has been on hiatus from us for the past three weeks. He rejoins the show in Costa Mesa) – Christopher has played Bedevere since the tour started and has been covering the King all that time as well. We are extremely lucky to have had such a strong, dependable cover who has stepped in for many a vacationing or ailing King.

We had a little opening night party next door at the Hotel Arizona. The flyer for the party reported that there would be “heavy hors d’oeuvres”, so you can imagine the surprise and delight when we discovered that full-on turkey legs were provided. It was hilarious watching everyone gnaw the meat off the bones – all decorum just went right out the window.

On Wednesday I walked around downtown for a bit and took some photos. I love the Southwestern architecture, especially against the blue, blue desert skies. I followed the Turquoise trail for a while, which runs by many of the landmarks downtown. I saw the St. Augustine Cathedral and the Presidio – then I headed over to 4th Avenue, which is just south of the University of Arizona campus and is filled with funky shops and restaurants. I had lunch at a little cafe, and then went over to the college campus to the Center for Creative Photography, to see a Robert Mapplethorpe portrait exhibit (which was very good).

St. Augustine Cathedral

The Presidio

On Thursday I got up early and drove out to the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum, which was kind of a mix between a botanical garden and a zoo. I was pretty awestruck as I drove out of the city into the hills, at the shear number of Saguaro cacti everywhere. They are so alien! And they are just everywhere – hundreds and hundreds of them. I enjoyed walking around the Desert Museum, seeing all the animals and plants, and just taking in the very different and unique environment. After that, I drove south to the San Xavier Reservation and visited the San Xavier del Bac Mission. The mission is such a beautiful, beautiful building – and the whiteness of it against the blue sky made for some very dramatic photographs.

Saguaro cacti at the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum

Flowers at the Desert Museum

Saguaros

San Xavier del Bac Mission

Chapel

In the chapel at San Xavier del Bac Misson

On Friday I picked up Suzanne at 8am and we drove out to Saguaro National Monument for some hiking before it got too hot (Ha! It was still 90 degrees!). We did a five mile round trip hike to Bridal Falls, which were, of course, dried up – but it was still a beautiful hike and we saw some jack rabbits and deer.

Taking a break with Suzanne at the base of dried up Bridal Falls

That afternoon we met up with all the girls on the tour for a goodbye lunch for Jen Mathie, one of our ensemble ladies who is leaving at the end of the week to go to India to study yoga. It was so nice to spend the afternoon with such an amazing group of women – I will miss them all when the tour is over.

Jen's goodbye lunch

On Saturday between shows I drove to the airport and picked up Ryan who flew in to hang out with me for our lay-off next week. We went out to dinner and then Ryan came and joined me after the evening show for Shot Night. He is off today on a rental Harley-Davidson to explore the area. We leave Monday for Sedona, where we are spending two nights, then we meet up with Suzanne on Wednesday at the Grand Canyon for a few days. Then we go to Las Vegas for the weekend. Should be fun! Its my last “vacation” before the tour is over and I have to tighten up on the spending

It was a great week here in Tucson – I looked at the calendar last week and realized that this is my first “new” city in four months (and my last of the tour) – all the places we have been since Spokane have been familiar to me. It was so nice to get back to a new place and feel the excitement of getting to explore again. It sounds weird, but Tucson reminded me a lot of Anchorage in a way – except of course it is the desert as opposed to tundra. It is a city in the middle of the frontier though, and you don’t have to drive very far to get to the wilderness. I think the heat would kill me if I lived here, but it is definitely beautiful country and I really enjoyed my week here.

So, onto my lay-off adventures, and then my final city of the “Spamalot” tour – Costa Mesa! I can’t believe after three years that it is all ending. I wonder what my next adventure will be?

We leave Lincoln tomorrow.  Good-byes have been so hard.  I’ve been trying to clean out our apartment, and I scrubbed the bath tub this morning with soap and lots and lots of tears.  I will miss my life here so much.  A few pictures of my Lincoln loves this week:

10 years and 7 months—something like that. Almost everything I know about nursing, I learned there. My job has probably been the only stable thing in my life. I have moved 8 times, lost 2 partners, almost lost my mom, watched my father-in-law die, started and abandoned the MSN program and finished my MFA. That’s the short version.

 Even before the restructuring, I knew the end was drawing near.  I could feel it at 6:30 am as I walked down the long corridor. I wondered how many more times I would ride the elevator to my floor. What was next? I kept having dreams about tornadoes and tsunamis. These dreams are often about change and rebirth. I thought maybe I would die in a fiery plane crash on my way to Nebraska. That obviously didn’t happen.

 Yesterday I worked the last day at my 1^st nursing job. I didn’t know it was going to be my last day until the day before. It was anti-climatic. A regular let’s discharge everybody Friday. No bangles. No buzzers. No banners. Just an e-mail on how I’ll leave a void. Assholes leave voids too.

 Packed up my stash of snacks. Emptied the freezer. Shredded my mail file and evaluation portfolio. Picked out the books that were still relevant.

All day I made a list in my head of the things that I won’t miss. All the discharge paper work—not many people are discharged on the night shift. Not having a bright light over the bed. Being on the last floor the doctors come to round. Getting up at 4:30am. The constant ring of the phone. Semi-private rooms. Medications in a million different places. Being Vocera-ed for stupid ass shit—but maybe that will be somebody else’s job.

J.G. asked me if I was a little sad. She asked if I was going to miss them. I said that I was and that I would, but I hesitated a little and laughed at the end. So she didn’t believe me. You’re not really sad, she said. Well, I am, but I don’t want to be. And I most certainly don’t want to be in front of people. It’s hard to be sad when I know I’m only going to be 5 floors down, and in all likelihood will be back as a float staff from my new floor. And it’s hard to be sad when I don’t feel anything yet. Except a sinking, nauseated feeling in my stomach. Besides nobody died. Everybody is still right there where I left them—for now.

I stood in my boss’s office to say good-bye. I think maybe she was holding back tears. Maybe. It was verging on something emotional, and I didn’t like it. I had this compulsion to hug her, but I know she doesn’t like hugs. Instead I said, this feels weird, so I’m out of here.

Truthfully, I’m scared shitless. I’ll be the one orientating, not mentoring someone else.  I’ll be the new person. I’ll be the person who doesn’t know stuff. And I’m really going to miss them.

Today I was told that a great employee has left our store.

I can’t believe how distraught I am over this. I can’t believe I’ve shed tears over it. But I can believe it, too.

This person was such a back bone to our crappy little store for almost 2 years.

Good bye Montreux or Montague. You’ll be missed by so many. I do hope you keep in touch.  I hope your next adventure in life is a great one.

     Just a few years ago, my wife and I dropped our daughter off at school in Seattle.  As we drove away to head home, Diane began to cry.  Being the manly kind of guy I am, I didn’t cry for at least a couple of miles.  It is just so hard to let go of someone you love so much.  You can’t help but worry.  Will she be safe?  Will she receive a good education or just a brainwashing?  What if she meets a boy?  Where did the time go?  It seems like just yesterday I took her to her first day of first grade.  She was so tiny then, but now she’s so grown up.

      I hate saying goodbye.  I hate letting go.

    When I think of goodbyes I can’t help but think of Mary of Magdala (no, her last name was not Magdalene).  You remember the story; Mary found the open tomb where Jesus had been laid.  She didn’t see his body, but she saw a man she thought must be the gardener (it’s hard to see through a veil of tears).  She asked the man what he’d done with Jesus’ body.  Then, the man spoke her name, “Mary.”  Immediately, she recognized the voice of Jesus and she fell at his feet.  No doubt she clung tightly to him.

     But how did Jesus respond?  John says Jesus told her, “Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet returned to the Father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am returning to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’ ” (John 20:17)

     I wonder if that wasn’t the hardest thing Mary ever heard Jesus say.  Can you imagine trying to let go of the one who had exorcised demons from your soul?  Just a few short hours ago, he was dead!  A couple of days before she’d witnessed his flogging and crucifixion.  Until one minute ago, she was certain she would never see him alive again.  Now he tells her to let go.  How much faith would it take for you to let go?  What if it was just her imagination?  What if she didn’t get to see him again?  What if…?

     Religion is one way of holding onto Jesus.  We can’t have him here with us physically, so we create rites, rituals, and traditions to take his place.  We have to have something to hold on to.  What if he doesn’t come back?  What if the Bible isn’t true?  What if…?  Through all our doubts, fears, and questioning, Jesus whispers, “Don’t hold on to me.”

     I’m not one for bumper sticker theology, but a once common phrase seems to come closest to translating what Jesus was telling Mary and what he is saying to us today.  Remember the slogan “Let go and let God”?  It spoke to our tendency and tenacity to hold onto our lives, our hopes, our problems, and our pride and do things our own way.  The author of the quip was simply saying that we should learn to trust God with all these things.

     But I look at “Let go and let God” a little differently.  When I glom onto Jesus as Mary did, I don’t necessarily do so in order to worship him, as she intended.  I think, a lot of times, I do so in order to 1) keep him to myself; and, 2) to conform him to my image of what he should look like and how he should behave.  As denominations and individual churches we often do the same thing for the same reasons.

     We ask questions about worship, questions of great import (to our shallow minds).  What should worship look like?  Which service will God honor more?  Where do we draw the line?  Some of the question marks of religiosity that assail us are: Wine or grape juice?; Unleavened bread or saltine?; One cup or individual servings?; Organ music, electric guitar and drums, or no instruments?; Hands raised to God or thrust deep in one’s pockets?; Scripture only from the lectern or responsive reading?; Speaking in tongues or silent prayer?; Liturgy or spontaneity?; Contemporary or traditional services?; Suit and tie or jeans and a sweatshirt?

     Who are the people who should comprise a worship service?  Should they be: believers or unbelievers; well-dressed or threadbare; educated or drop-outs; black or white or any other ethnicity; the upright or the criminal; the emotionally stable or the mentally unbalanced; pro-life or pro-choice; liberal or conservative; upwardly mobile or the downward spiraling; stinky or perfumed; the fundamental or the new-ager; the Bible scholar or the babe in Christ?

     Where should we worship?  Where is the best place to meet with God?  Is it:  in the valley or on the mountain top; in a cathedral or a warehouse; a mega-church or a house church; in the United States or some other country; alone or with others?

     I often confuse worship as a time for me instead of a time for God.  There have been many times when I thought, “I didn’t get anything out of the worship service today.”  And while the thought was still in my mind I could hear God say, “Neither did I!”  I am ashamed to admit that I hold tightly to my ideas of what God is like and how He should be worshiped.  Truly, I am the lesser for it.

     When I look at the Old Testament and read what happened when God showed up at worship, I get a totally different idea of what true worship might be like. Look at 1Kings 8:11.  Solomon had just finished building the Lord’s Temple and the priests had placed the Ark of the Covenant inside the Holy of Holies.  Then God arrived.

     What happened to worship?  The Bible tells us the priests could not perform their service because of the cloud, for the glory of the LORD filled his temple. God was unrestrained in His presence there and all the rituals of worship came to a screeching halt!  Have you ever been in a place where God decided to drop in?  A pastor friend, Scott Hogue, told me about a foot washing service he held with the youth of our church years ago.  He said that the Spirit of God was so pronounced in that service that he prayed for God to remove His Spirit from them because Scott thought they would suffocate.

     In the end, we all worship God from the same position— “‘As surely as I live,’ says the Lord, ‘every knee will bow before me; every tongue will confess to God.’” Notice that we won’t be bringing any of the trappings of worship with us except our voices.  Jesus described pure worship as being in Spirit and in truth. When we come to know the truth, Jesus (John 14:6), we are set free to worship (John 8:32), and God will be in our midst (Matthew 18:20).

     Do you want to see God move in all His power?  Then let go.  We must stop trying to fit God into a particular mode of worship or a certain denomination.  We must stop expecting Him to act as we would act.  Let go and let God go about His work, in His way, with His people, His timing, and His purpose.  You can’t control Him anyway, so let go.  As with Mary, God will not leave you alone.  So, let Him go.  Then let yourself go.  Fall into the hands of the Almighty.  Let Him hold onto you.  He will never let go.

My Childhood Home

We were about to end a spectacular seven day Caribbean cruise.  It had been absolutely perfect…until the last night. Our daughter, Debralyn, who was merely 8 years old, came down with a severe case of either food poisoning or the stomach flu. All over our tiny cabin room!  Several times! I felt so sorry for our little girl who loved to travel….and felt so horrible….and had a long plane ride ahead of her the next day. She was so weak we had to use a wheelchair to get her off the cruise ship and through the airport. Finally Debralyn nestled into a comfy business class seat and cuddled with her blanket. She gazed up at me with her sad, pathetic eyes and whispered, “I just want to go home.”  I  simply stroked the hair on her forehead as my mom used to do for me.

Instantly, I was transported back in time to a hospital room seated at the bedside of my dying mom. The calendar had just turned to September….the third month to pass in that stale hospital room. Mom’s breast cancer had spread throughout her body. Her oncologist compared her to a tree with every limb diseased. In spite of this, she met this challenge with peace and grace, and most people who left her bedside felt like they had been the ones encouraged. Mom never gave up hope – at least from what I could see.

 On the first Saturday in September of 1984, Mom and I chatted about where she would find space in her kitchen for the abundance of flowers that lined her room. She still acted certain that she would go home. But I wondered if she really believed it. Every shallow breath was accompanied by a wince and sigh of pain. Her skin was a pale gray. I certainly knew something had worsened because she didn’t want me to turn on music that day. Walking away from her that day felt final. Deep inside me I knew that she would not see those flowers line her kitchen windowsills.

The next day, Dad told me I may want to visit Mom again. She was markedly worse. Again, she didn’t want to hear music and barely spoke to me. Faintly I heard her say, “I just want to go home.”   “Oh, you will Mom, you will,” I quickly and too eagerly promised. A moment later she uttered, “Not that home. My real home. Where my mom and dad are. Where my Jesus is. I just want to go home.”  

Tears prevented me from speaking. I could not imagine life on this earth without her. But, I knew that her time to go home was near. She was weary from the battle and her body was failing. She wanted rest rather than struggle. I had no words so I just stroked the hair on her forehead just like she used to do for me.

I had the privilege to be with my mom when she died. I witnessed her farewell tear and final breath. I will never forget how peaceful the room felt – it was actually palpable. My last ‘conversation’ with Mom has provided me with comfort when all I really wanted was to spend some time with Mom. Today marks the 25^th anniversary of her “heavenly home going.”  I am grateful for the gift of memories, not just of her, but of those words my daughter spoke a few years ago to help me understand that no matter how glorious our Caribbean cruise or our life is, we ultimately long to go home.”

     My parents are moving out of the house they have called home for over forty years. They feel forced out by a changing and unsafe neighborhood. I want them to go but at the same time I am sorry to say good-bye to the house where so many of my life’s important events happened. We moved there the summer before I started junior high or seventh grade. I was a tall skinny girl with stingy blond hair and acne. When we moved back to the US from Guam I had struggled to find friends and fit in at my old school across town. A year later my dad came home from his tour in Vietnam we moved to this house where they’ve stayed after about fourteen years of moving once a year. The house has always been too small for a family of five, but it was built in the early sixties when you got a real backyard with your house. I’ve spent many hours in deep thought sitting in the porch swing on that patio. The old growth plants and single-story neighbors kept the yard private and oasis like. From high school drama all the way through my fight with breast cancer that backyard has given me solace that I haven’t found anywhere else. The new yard is tiny and has huge two-story houses looking down into it.

     I spent my last night in my old room on the 23rd and the next day helped them get ready for movers. I wasn’t there when the movers came, but that day I had dinner with my friend Heather who was packing up and heading home after finishing grad school. Heather invited me to her apartment in the Berkeley Hills to drink wine, eat some food and watch the sun set. Her apartment was high enough that we looked down on the fog bank that coated San Francisco Bay leaving only the tips of high rises poking through. We could see the sun set to pale oranges and purples. And then I said good-bye to Heather the person that has been my closest friend from school.

    The next morning, Thursday, I woke up in a paralyzing depression. Almost unable to get out of bed I was wondering if I was okay. And as I lay there I realized that it wasn’t one event like a death or tragedy, but the culmination of so many endings and so many employment rejections that had weighed me down into feeling very tiny and small and almost unwilling to continue the fight. The only bright light in the past eight months is graduating from graduate school. Losing my job on January 12th put me into this spiral that doesn’t appear to have an ending. I lost a good friend from work about six weeks later. He had lived a good full life until his heart gave out. He always had my back and gave me emotional support during very tough times, calling to see how I was feeling when I was sick. When I finished the first draft of my thesis I missed him the most because I had been counting on him to read it and fix my punctuation. I know he’s sorry he didn’t get a chance to read it. He would have been so proud of me for finishing school.

     So with no job to go to, no school, no close friend nearby, no familiar family home, I feel as though I’ve had too many endings this summer and really need a beginning or a new opportunity show up soon. I deserve something good to happen, it’s about time.

Today, walking to a meeting on campus, I heard a ruckus of cranes, but looked up and saw only blue sky.  I waited, and one V after another crested the hill.  I hollered, “Wrong way!  Go back!” as if that could stem the inevitable pull of dwindling light and creeping chill that is drawing them south.  As I walked by each building on campus, I saw small groups of people standing there, looking up, awed by the force of their collective calls, and each longing to reverse the day and leap back through time to spring.

So write about a sound you’ve heard that let you know something was about to change.  Or about a good-bye that was somehow mixed with a natural event,  such as the southern migration of sandhill cranes.

——————————

This is from Cast of Thousands by way of Glow:

the night she left me
August fireflies lay in the dew
too cold and heavy to fly,
scattered like sparks from a fire
in the damp grass.
they lay glowing,
pulsing with light,
piteously sending love signals
to each other
but none could fly.
i assume their tiny insect hearts swelled
their fiery fly emotions surged
hopelessly mired
in wet, chill desire.
i watched her headlights
fill the night, then vanish
as she turned the corner.
the dark rolled around me
while tiny desperate lights
blinked and blinked and blinked.

This week our not so long journey comes to a fork in the road. Ring Psychology is joining the SBNation family and we couldn’t be prouder. Pro wrestling will take its place next to America’s other great sports on the best online platform in the world. Everything you’ve become accustomed to here will now go down at our new site:

http://www.cagesideseats.com/

We will still atempt to be the single site you need to visit to find the most important news and the best features on pro wrestling and MMA; we will just be doing it bigger and better. More exclusive interviews with the sports’ biggest stars and more feature content than ever. Please come join us.