David VanNoy 1961-2015

David VanNoy died today in Mexico in a hail of bullets.  That's not actually true, but he once told me that is how he wanted to be remembered.  "Wouldn't that sound so much better than 'succumbed after numerous illnesses'?" he asked me.


He lived every day as if he may be it his last. 

I met David way beack when I started this blog.  A small group of us found each other, flung across America and we bonded.  Chicago, Houston, Long Beach adn Los Angeles.  Unlike many blogging people, we saw each other in person.  We called our group the "Big Gurl Stitch and Bitch". 

David was fearless.  See someone interesting, mention it to David ad within minutes you're all talking and making plans to visit each other's summer houses. Ask David for advice and be prepared to hear the down and dirty honest truth that will cut you to your core and set you free at the same time. 

I once asked him why he started his blog, "Because I'm dying darling, and I my parents won't speak to me.  I figured one day I'll actually be dead and they should know what happened."

He went to his heart doctor a few years ago and was told that e had about 9 months to a year left to live.  Parts of his heart no longer worked and his pacemaker couldn't fill the gap.  "I went to the tattoo parlor to get my expiration date tattooed on my ass." Oh David, you're not going to expire.  You've beat all expectations.  You'll pull this one off as well. "No darling, this one has no escape." But the date isn't a certainty.  Don't get an expirey date, how about lkie milk, you can just get "best before"? "Not to worry honey, I went in to get that tatoo and they wouldn't touch me.  Some bullshit about HIV+ and needles... but I really wanted to! You're right, I'll go with 'Best Before'."

When Lyle and I launched our madcap adventure, cutting loose from LA and living life as if we may not have another chance at it, that is inspired by David.  When I am fearfull, I tell myself, "just channel David." And when I tell you a story that sounds unbeivable but true, it probably involves David. 

It's said that Diana Vreeland invented "Faction" the marriage of Fact+Fiction.  David would say, "Technically your story is true but it's boring! Why would anyone tell a boring story?"

And so that is how I came here to let you kow that David VanNoy died in hail of bullets.  He would have wanted it that way.

Where's Waldo?

It's been 4 months since my dad died.  It's been 3 months since our dog died. I'd like to think that I am moving forward.  Perhaps there is proof that I am since I no longer cry as I fall asleep and I no longer cry as I'm waking up. But I still cry. The sharpest pain has diminished to a dull ache, with smaller moments of sharp pain.

Every day there is an ad for upcoming father's day.  Every day I get an email from a pet store. Every single day something reminds me of the pieces of my life that are missing. I can't bring myself to form the words that explain my loss.  I can't say the dog's name. I can't look at photos.  I can't breathe.

I am lost. Don't get me wrong, I know where I'm sitting right now (though some days when I'm waking up I'm none too certain what city I'm in...). But I 'm lost in an entirely different place. Most people who go through all this have some routine to return to.  A sense of "normalcy" that I haven't had for a few years. Without that root, I find myself adrift.

I don't want people to worry about me. I don't want you to worry about me. I put on a brave face and I post one pleasant thing each day on Facebook or Instagram.  Even the worst day always has one good thing happen.  Coffee - good. Found a quarter - very good.  Sunset - excellent. Ice cream - freaking fantastic. Then there are the other 23 hours and 45 minutes to deal with. If I'm lucky, I can sleep through 6-7 hours.  Which is an improvement from the four hours I was getting when I having vivid dreams about my dad and/or the dog.

Previously when I was drifting, I assigned myself tasks. Tasks like laundry, bake bread, create a book based on a vacation, etc.  I'm doing laundry.  I'm in Palm Springs so it's mostly t-shirts and swim suits. It takes a couple weeks to really build up a full day of distraction. We are borrowing a friend's house.  It is not outfitted to really go to town and bake.  Besides, I've lost my appetite and my ability to follow an entire recipe.  I've tried making a list of things to work on, but I can't seem to finish making a list. Even writing this post has petered out and I can't remember where I was headed when I started it, and so I don't know how to end it.

I'm killing time.  I'm letting myself heal.  At least I hope I am.