observations at 3 years

It's 53 degrees and pouring. I'm in the truck, a chocolate chip cookie in my hand. Less of a sweets habit lately but I'm off the clock today- three years since Eileen died. Chocolate melts on my fingers as I cradle the intact cookie. Heavy sigh- I didn't drive all this way to huddle in the truck and eat. I came to ride, to mark time, to unplug and take stock. Old Keith would easily bail on the ride. This Keith bagged the cookie, licked his fingers and opened the door against a stiff wind- a quick dose of fuck you this might be hard.

This dumb drought makes me stupid- I failed to account for the weather. I found a jacket stashed in the truck and hit the trail. Fatbike today; a ridiculous clownshoe-wearing parade. I only passed a handful of folks but each offered a witty comment and a smile. It's hard to fly my usual flag of surliness while essentially riding a balloon sculpture. It broke me, lightened me up.

The forecast was precise- 50% chance of rain: I was rained upon half the time. Truthfully the rain was fine after I warmed up on the first climb. The headwinds on the otherhand...

I'm climbing. Why are you the one who had to go...why did either of us? It will forever make no sense. No sense. Nonsense. Bullshit. Fuck. And how can I smile at the same time that I miss you so much? It's what you hoped for, a dictate from a dying wife; to be ok.

I am ok. I'm telling you I'm ok. (I'm not always ok). I try.

I felt good. Centered. Comparing my headspace with previous years. Energized by my current (perception of) mental health after the rougher periods. I'm marginally more fit, owing to the residual benefits of half-marathon training and my amped up hiking mileage. Some days up to ten miles with Red. Hiking goes with thinking, thinking morphs towards meditation. The noise and then the blanking. Miles clock in without fanfare. I get back home feeling clearer. My phone shows later what it's silently logged. I check it at insomnia o'clock.

I rode to Drake's Head comfortably swimming in sweat and rain and thoughts of Eileen. I hunkered down against the wind and gazed at the sea. A couple sunbeams broke through but it was mostly gray. Gloriously gray, really. Life needs contrasts. Good to have fodder from which to appreciate the sun.

Some days I feel further from Eileen than others but today I was extra close. I thought through some stuffs, thankful for what she gave me...the toolset to continue without her. I say it always, but she's everywhere and it's the warmest feeling. She's singularly with me, within me, when I'm riding alone. As it happens; I often ride alone.

Still 53 degrees. 53. The same number on the chest of 8th grade Keith, a 16 husky squeezed into a 14 regular. The one who drops the ball. The one who dropped the ball with Susan. I made a mess of things, took the easier route and deferred the hardest work. I missed the signs, failed to check. Months have passed and it's still tough and unsettled, a heartache perched on a heartache. This one is my fault. A hard admission. Embarrassed. Frustrated. Every kind of regret. This emotional soup has a lot of ingredients. Our healing relationship was extraordinary, beautiful and so worthy of more than I could give back. When I could, I fumbled. I'm asking Eileen. I'm writing. Aching. Working on things I can work on. Missing so much. Look at the waves out there.

An exhilarating downhill with the wind off the back of Drake's Head, I bounced over the pastureland past the groupings of cows and birds. Navigation was clearer. I recognize the subtlest landmarks of the right route. It's familiar now; this is what I do. I do this. Faster than the last ride here exactly a year ago. I smile.

It's true I'm on an upswing. Maybe it's artificial or exaggerated, contrasted against those jagged years. At times I feel high: there's neighbor babies in my life and I'm an oxytocin fiend. I got bad cards but I have privilege and fortune and luck. I climb a rise without much ado. Thoughts of my people, my lovely people. Lucky fucker: you need to give back. The universe thinks you're alright enough to surround you with love. Give back. I will. I'll try. I smile.

I wore my stress for years...I thought fairly well. Maybe not very well. I drape that heavy coat on my arm now. Carried, but set aside more often. I couldn't see how much I couldn't see. Day to day feels different. I stand straighter, at least in spirit. I want Eileen to be proud of me. I'm lighter now.

Near Sunset Beach I rode the tidal flats, finding a social trail to the beach. Clay caked onto the fatbike's giant tires and I groaned at the unwelcome weight, an illustration of how I'd been. Some scraping with the quill of a found feather was ineffective so I muscled away from the beach. A downpour helped shed some of the new weight, and a downhill opportunity spun the tires clean, pelting my eyes with flying muck. Cleaning feels counterproductive sometimes. Sometimes you get help.

I lingered on the bridge over the estuary to watch the shorebirds cackle and caw. I forgot the bird book again. I wish I could have committed Eileen's shared bird knowledge to my memory. Riding uphill through the old tree farm, the wafting pine scent took me back at once to the U.P., to favorite East Coast trails, to crisp Sierra hikes with Eileen.

A good day. A good ride. I packed up in a piddling rain.

Back in the truck, I smiled and ate that cookie.

Onward.

Eileen Rohmer Memorial Garden

Last evening I attended the dedication of the Eileen Rohmer Memorial Garden at the Piedmont High School. It was beautiful and poignant listening to the speakers share their experiences knowing Eileen and hearing about all the challenges and victories in making the Garden a reality. I always get sad thinking about how only a certain set of students, in their time, had the opportunity to know and learn from Eileen. This Garden will continue on for years and years, inspiring more lives through science and nature. If you're a Bay Area local, drop me a line and we can visit the Garden together.

Red is blocking it here, but there is a mole in the mural; a nod Avogadro's Number and Mole Day, something that Eileen had a lot of fun with in her teachings.

The metal sculpture sign is a representation of a serotonin molecule. Very fitting.

back at it

After the half-marathon, I was having some problems with pain in my ankles. I learned from some runner friends that I probably screwed up some tendons during the run, since the pain came on a few days afterwards and took a really long time to subside. I figured my big ol' body could use the rest, so I took a break from running for several weeks. Today was the inaugural post-half-marathon run. It went pretty well, but holy geezus I felt like dirt. The two miles felt like 13.1!

All that said, it was great to be back on the pavement. Onward.

43 / 48

Today you would be 43. I am 48.

That five year spread where things were uncommon.
Differences there- different histories.
Separate experience.
Our everythings were close, but bent a bit.
Fodder for a talk on an achey drive in bad weather
or the excuse to say you'll never understand.
The ends of threads unraveled,
we wet the frays between our lips to make a point.
The exciting stuff!

That five year spread: now you're gone three years.
One calendar stopped.
Mine chimes as the distance grows.
My life as pinned to a cork board,
layers of recollections thick on a pushpin shaft.
I carry new stories I want to tell you:
We did that. Now I do it like this, over here.
Here's exciting and beautiful.
This is lovely and horrible things.
On this side- predicated heartaches. Unexpected levity.
Back here is bracing resolve.
And bravery. And sweetness. And gratitude.

I am in the grasses at Wind Cave
blowing dandelion thistles, losing sight of the seeds in the sun.
Some nestle onto the shallow sea of dewey greens.
Some snag on their way down. Or, up.
Lots are lost along the winds.
Indirect. Serpentine.
Paths for my future, borne on my past and present with you.
And, my present with you.

I go...and you're here.
The hummingbird that interrupts
when my heart is beating a crow.

They say to smile...

Hot ride today. I was a sweaty mess.

off to The Great Gig in the Sky

Philip Erwin Cormier, 82, was booked at The Great Gig in the Sky on June 16, 2015, in Duluth MN, with his family at his side.

He was born to Erwin "Erv" P. and Weda S. (Mattson) Cormier on Nov. 1, 1932, in Wakefield, Mich. The baby of the family, he was preceded in death by his parents, two sisters, Meryle and Adele; a brother, James; and a daughter-in-law, Eileen Rohmer.

A lifelong resident of Wakefield, Phil attended Wakefield Public Schools and graduated in 1950.

Phil reported for active duty in the U.S. Army in July 1956 and received his honorable discharge in July 1962.

He was very active in various musical activities throughout his life and was known most notably for his wonderful swing (touch, feel) on the drums.

Phil married the former Alice M. Oja in 1961. She survives.

Phil was the co-owner/operator of Cormier's Service which offered various services throughout the years such as taxicab, ambulance, wrecker, buses, gas station, tire repair, bus storage, auto and truck repair, and lunchtime live music jams, along with other activities.

Practically everyone in Wakefield from that era has a story or two about "Phil and the cab," "Phil and the wrecker", "Phil and the ambulance," "Phil and the station," or "Phil and his drums." He certainly touched a lot of people's lives.

Phil always seemed to have "that smile" and a positive attitude.

After closing the station in the mid 1980's he continued his service career as a parts man at Gogebic Auto/Northwestern Auto in Bessemer until his retirement.

Upon retiring he was given the opportunity to enjoy time with all of his grandchildren whom he loved so much. The grandchildren all have stories of "jammin' in grandpa's van" or just cruising to get coffee and dippings.

Phil is survived by his loving wife of 53 years, Alice; his three sons, Chris (Marion) of Hendersonville, N.C ., Dave (Joy) of Wakefield, and Keith of Oakland, Calif .; and a daughter, Alisa (Rich) Roberts of Davenport, Fla. He is also survived by his grandchildren, Adam Cormier, Hannah and Sarah Cormier, James, Dylan and Dakota Alexandroni, Caitlyn and Brynna Roberts; and numerous nieces and nephews.

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PhilE ragin' in the 1950's

We sent PhilE on his way last Monday. The setup was perfect, the service was exactly right, and the fellowship afterwards was filled with good times and remembrances. We've been overwhelmed with heartfelt condolences, thank you to all.

We set up PhilE's drums at the church, displaying his wonderfully road-worn drum cases behind the kit. His body was cremated, and in celebrating his life with a more upbeat tone, we wanted to have an urn that offered a bit of a twist from a typical urn. My family thought it would be sweet to use a drum, and it occurred to us that using a Ludwig drum with the same unique finish as his drumkit would be appropriate. Finding a drum was potentially a tall order, but everything worked out as if PhilE was shopping for us. I started frantically calling around the Bay Area to see if I could locate a drum locally that fit the bill while Chris simultaneously scoured Craigslist out in North Carolina. Long story short- Chris immediately found a guy that had the PERFECT drum for sale, but he was selling a complete kit. We were worried that the seller wouldn't break up his kit and sell us just one tom-tom (which is typically a "no no" when you're selling a drumkit) but lo and behold he was very willing. Total score! It's a vintage Ludwig tom from 1969 in the exact "Black Diamond Pearl" finish as PhilE's kit.  I've done a little more research on PhilE's kit and learned that it was made between 1948 and 1952. (It's kind of a big deal- they're in great shape...the vintage drum aficionados would drooooool....).

As we've been looking through many old photos from back in the day showing PhilE playing in various bands, it's amazing to see those very same drums....a thread of continuity from his musical life. I'm happy that we have that tangible reminder of his musical wanderings, and we felt it was appropriate to showcase the kit at his funeral.

A common theme running throughout all the nice condolences folks have shared revolves around how PhilE was always ready to help. He was involved with the station throughout the majority of his life and, this being such a small town, that sweet man had a huge positive impact on many many lives. As stated in the wonderful obituary that Dave wrote; Practically everyone in Wakefield from that era has a story or two about "Phil and the cab", "Phil and the wrecker", "Phil and the ambulance", "Phil and the station", or "Phil and his drums".

PhilE was always quick to help, always ready to go an extra mile (or two) to help someone out. With that theme of "service" in mind, my brothers and I decided to honor PhilE at the funeral by wearing matching service station uniforms. We still had some old Standard Oil patches and name tags at the house...a perfect finishing touch. It was a great idea and I think that everyone "got it".

Friends, if you'd like to help out, we've set up a fund earmarked for the Music Department at the high school. Things are tight up here in the U.P. so every little bit truly helps. We hope that the fund can honor my Dad's legacy far into the future.

Contributions may be made in Phil Cormier's memory to:

Wakefield-Marenisco School Music Department

715 Putnam Street

Wakefield MI 49968

We really appreciate it, thank you!

Father's Day run with PhilE and E

My Dad Phil, died last week. He's always been known as PhilE (phillie). It's a very challenging time but my family is getting through to whatever the new normal is. And it's Father's Day.

I'm here in CA just for the week before heading back to MI for the funeral. I did my first half-marathon this morning and it went really well and in my heart I dedicated my run to PhilE. There were some headwinds that I'm unsure who to blame upon, but in every moment of tailwind that pushed me along, I thought of my Dad there with me, and I thought about he and Eileen arguing about what my pace should be. They are everywhere.

thanks to Scott and Tim for encouraging me.

The start and finish was at the Craneway Pavilion over in Richmond and I couldn't help but remember having an amazing evening there with my Dad back in the spring of 2010. My Mom and Dad had finally made the long journey out to CA at me and Eileen's urging. We all had a super time and the entire visit goes down as one of my favorite things.

The visit coincided with the ToyStory3 wrap party, so I asked my Dad to pack his tux and I took him to the party while the girls stayed home. I'm so happy I was able to share that night with my Dad. I recall how I looked the hero as I completely lucked out and got primo parking spots both at the screening, and then later at the Craneway where the big party commenced. PhilE was always so very proud of me, to an almost embarrassing degree honestly, and that night was no exception. He loved chatting with my friends and I'm so happy now that some of them got the chance to meet him. He loved taking it all in, it was such a spectacle!

A couple great stories of the night: The party was HUGE and overwhelming. Food, music, lights, the whole enchilada. I stuck close to Dad but at one point I lost him! I looked everywhere...not really panicking, but a little apprehensive about what kind of trouble he was getting himself into. After a bit of a search, I found him hanging in the backstage area by the band, keeping his eye on the drummer. Of course!! I watched for a bit from afar and he scooted himself closer. Then closer. When he was tantalizingly close to the stage I scooted over to join him, but not before snapping this photo. That's my Dad...taking it all in:

And that story reminds me of another great one: 1977. Duluth MN. My first concert- KISS at the Duluth Arena. PhilE brought us all up to the show (not trivial considering home is 120miles east). I hung close to Dad, and in typical fashion he was more interested in the backstage goings-on than front-of-house. We grabbed seats directly behind Peter Criss' kit and enjoyed the show. After Peter's (very 70's-style) drum solo, my Dad leaned over to me and said quietly, "I could do that..".  GOLD!

Back at the Craneway in 2010, a touching story was when I lost sight of PhilE again. I looked everywhere before I found him in the dessert line. He was preparing a plate for my Mom, because he was so taken by all the wonderful desserts and (for some reason) he was especially drawn to the little bamboo plates that were offered and wanted to show Mom. That man was so fucking sweet, all the time. And he was always so sweet on my Mom, without fail.

As the days go by, I have been thinking about how I am cut from the same cloth. How I have so many of my Dad's traits in me. I'm so lucky to be his son.