Broken Toolbox Drawer.

 I don't sleep well. I wake up and lay in bed for hours, mainly worrying about my kids and about politics and often bout small meaningless things that during daylight hours I would laugh at their insignificance. In additive, I get less sleep than I should. It makes for  groggy days with poor decision making skills. Today, I took an hour long nap at 10:00AM. This also creates a fertile environment for depression, and anxiety. i was getting something out of my toolbox drawer this morning, and the drawer jammed, it would not close. They are narrow drawers and the lower drawer's  contents (chisels in this case) can shift and stop the upper from being pushed in.  In my sleep deprived state, I could not figure the problem out and while if  I thought about it, there were several things I should have done to attempt to clear the blockage. I didn't.  In a fit of cloudy thinking and negative impulse control, I destroyed it and yanked the stuck drawer out by the roots. A flashlight and a screwdriver would have revealed a chisel handle had popped up and blocked the upper drawer. The toolbox is not an heirloom or that important to me, but my lack of mental problem solving is. I don't know where this will take me but it makes me sad.

The real matter at hand is not a broken tool box drawer, it's much more than that. I am to turn sixty four next week and the overwhelming feeling is that I have missed the target and sailed far out into the stratosphere. As long as I can remember I have felt like I was outside watching the real party take place from the window on the sidewalk. Everything was so close but not for me. I can not go back and slightly correct my trajectory or when or if the shot was taken, I can only watch as the intended target drifts ever farther away. I am not an idiot, I know I have it good, but it is bittersweet to look back with regret.

Another Requiem for a Friend. Good Bye Erick

     I have known Erick Larson for probably thirty years. We worked together at Alpha Cine Lab, a motion picture film processing lab (and dysfunctional family), and again at the also strange and endlessly creative American Production Services (later Victory Studios). While we were never close friends, we always checked in with one another with psychotronic film suggestions and various cinema related discussions. We knew many people in common and Erick was always good for an interesting perspective and a encyclopedic knowledge of film. He and Mike Phelps developed and ran a well known film series, "Shining Moment" that brought the obscure and the wonderful to many screens in the Seattle area. Erick had a wry sense of humor and a very temperate personality. It was easy to talk to Erick Larson, he was good people.

    In one of the hard to understand challenges that the universe seems to throw arbitrarily at its residents,  Erick developed Multiple Sclerosis. Like his rugged Nordic Viking ancestors, Erick doggedly went about his life, determined to continue his life's work. He hung on, living independently in his cool  Belltown apartment, working, and running films for appreciative audiences. One by one, gravity and his body forced him to give up things he loved, one by one.  His girlfriend Dee, who is a kind and old soul, stood by his side throughout, as his life changed. It was unfair and disappointing to watch. When he could, he kept his even Erick temperament, but I am sure it was brutal to experience. Much happened to him in the last few years but, to be concise, eventually it just got difficult. May 8th, 2025  he let go.

    My last few visits with Erick, were in the hospital and at the Kline Galland home. Because I am a superficial person we mostly talked about movies and the old topics we knew from many drop ins to his office at Victory. We watched  "Die Hard 2" on the hospital tv making Bruce Willis jokes. He seemed to be letting go even then, in retrospect, but he still enjoyed even a bad film. The next time I saw him was May 7th, he was at Kline Galland home, where he had lived. He was unresponsive but the TV was on the movie channel, an awful 1965 Jimmy Stewart film, "Letter To Brigitte ". I gave him a running play by play monologue on how bad Jimmy Stewart's hair piece was, and a critical review of Billy Mumy and Brigitte Bardot. Like I said, when faced with mortality, the best I can do is superficial movie jokes. Dee came in the room and he lit up. It's good to know, that when faced with your final passage over the bridge, love is the last thing you know.

    Erick, you really are good people. See you down the road.