May 28th - June 5th, 2018: Things I'd Tell You

Things I'd Tell You Part One

It's quite simple, really. 

I’ve got an idea, and though this isn’t an unusual thing to say, it is, for a reason I’m not quite clear on, extraordinary and extremely important. Oh yes, and selfish too. Maybe. 

Thanks to a conversation I had on grief with Adam, “Things I’d Tell You” is going to be a monthly piece in Real Talk’s, covering things like gardening, literature, adventure, the color of farm-fresh eggs, favorite poems, musings, grammar, and other such things. Things I’d have told you, Bob. And it should be noted, that I don't know what the future of this looks like, or how much I'll continue to share,

one thing is very clear: 

It’s a tug, a push, a thing I feel inclined to do, and I sure hope that you’ll join me. However that looks.


May 28th, 2018, off on a camping trip!

We're off for an adventure in the chinook. Though just for a night, it's always worth it! We'll be at Hosmer lake--hopefully it's not too crowed. You know, with the end of memorial day weekend and all!

We just arrived at our camp spot. There's a perfect view of Mt. Bachelor, and guess what? Not a soul in sight! You can hear both an airplane, bird, woodland critters, crackling of the fire, and deep breeze coming through the trees. And my gosh--it smells so good! We have a fire going now, and the light from the sun is slowly dripping down, settling itself in dark pinks and purples on the lake. As the sky grows even darker, there seems to be quite a few more birds, and chatty ones at that. They must have a lot ot say about this spectacular spot as well. 

It's a full moon tonight, you can see it peaking through the trees, lighting up the world around us as the sky goes dark. You know the feeling. 

Ok, this is random, I know, but I'm washing my face with a paper towel dipped in hot water, and it smells like Mendocino, CA. I can't explain it. 


May 29th, 2018, waking up outside. 

The sun rose early as fog danced across the field and lake, and as far as I could tell, Mt. Bachelor was swimming in it. It should be noted, and though one could easily just assume, I'm still snuggled up in the chinook drinking coffee, while Adam braves the cold and coffee-less world. 

I almost wish it would start raining (as it unexpectedly does this time of year), just so I could say that it hasn't stopped since it started! One of your most used phrases. 

Later this same day...

Random, but important: A new goal of mine is to be on the NY Times best seller list--do you think I can do it?


May 30th, 2018. In Portland, OR.

I've just come out of an appointment at OHSU, the same building where you recieved treatment time and time again. It used to be strange, coming here, eating in the same cafeteria I met you and Sue at over a year ago, but now it's beginning to feel normal. That scares me. 

Also, in light of this appointment, I'm questioning everything. Asking myself, who I am without my illness? Has it become my identity? And is that why I'm protecting myself? Even if all of this is subconscious, I feel like I've accepted this lack-of-voice. Fallen into an unhealthy pattern. That also scares me, but in a good I-need-it kind of way.  


May 31st, at home.

Today I wrote about you. About the letter, you know, the one from Christmas? Anyways, it felt good. It felt right.

It felt good and right and I think you'd like it. 


June 2nd, 2018, packing up shop.

There's coffee spilt all over your book--draft of, I should say, as you went on to make a few more editions (the final I have yet to read). Back to the coffee, it's suiting. Especially since this copy of your book traveled to the Mendocino coast and back, with just myself, the want for a solo (and slightly terrifying) adventure, and Little Blue! 

Also, I just uncovered, 'How to grow vegetables and fruits, the organic method.' Do you remember when you gave that to me? The spine fell of, Cory had it framed, and I'm quite certain it might be the most well loved book I have ever seen! I wonder how often you took it into the garden with you. You knew most things by memory when living at Tuckaway, but how about Mendocino? When you were just getting going!


June 3rd, 2018, and it's almost 10:00 pm.

I'm still not writing as much as I would like. I suppose that could just be because of how I'm feeling today--or what it means knowing you won't read it. 

Regardless, I've I hit a wall, multiple walls, even, and I'm not sure how to get past. 

Not to worry, there's time to figure it out. 


june 5th, 2018, and it's my last night at this house

This place that I'm not certain you ever saw? Why would you, though, when we had Tuckaway farm at our fingertips.

I wasn't going to write today, I was just planning on publishing what I already had, but this moment, this breeze, Kona and his variety of sticks and toys, the lush tree I've spent countless hours talking with, and the way the light dips into my office, lighting up postcards, paintings, and memorabilia alike, is certainly one for the books. 

A lot of creating happened here. 

Also tears. 

I was sitting at the kitchen table a few years back when I got the call, and though the outcome was never promising, we did our best to remain hopeful (but also realistic) from the get go. I'd say you did pretty well--fantastically well. 

Anyways, transitions are never easy, and though I don't expect this one to be either, there surely is a lot to look forward to. Like a trip to the UK, a making of a new home, the party at Maple Rock (I'm glad we went with that name), and lots of documenting, hard work, delicious food, and good company along the way.

All things you'd highly approve of!