Our Legacy

"I like playing music, it makes me feel relevant, like I matter".  My dad spoke these words to me when I thanked him for playing on my birthday, he on his guitar and me on my new cajon.  I haven't been able to get them out of my head ever since.  My dad was a full time entertainer in my early years, so listening to him play is as comfortable a feeling as I know.   Eventually he moved on to writing and became a successful journalist, but I don't think I fully understood how much music meant to him until he said those words.  It's his legacy.  We all want to feel like we have an impact while we're living, and especially after we're gone.

This Christmas has been a time of reflection for me.  A reflection on legacy, of people that have passed, and what it means to be amongst others and have an impact.  My mother's memory has weighed heavily on my mind as this year marks a milestone for me:  She has been gone for as long as I knew her (21 years).  I've done the math in my head for several years and knew it was coming, but I was always able to banish it to the hinterlands of my mind because it hadn't arrived yet.  This year it smacked me square in the face and reminded me how relentless the march of time is.  Surprisingly, it had a positive effect on me.

My mom loved Christmas and the most tangible artifact we have are her ornaments .  Some were hand-made made and others had been in the family for years.  All of them were an integral part of our Christmas trees as kids and after she died it was difficult to see them.  My sister had them for awhile and then she gave them to Nikki and I.  We've had them on our trees since 1995.  I felt a strong desire to document them before they disintegrated or were damaged.  I made a photo book and gave copies to my dad and sister.  We looked through the book and cried a lot, but it was positive.   The amount of time that had passed healed the hurt enough. I felt like it was the first time we could openly discuss her memory and talk about the the things she loved.  Before, we simply couldn't speak about it. We talked about her love of Christmas and the things we remember about her.  We talked about her legacy.  She was incredibly strong, loving, generous, and loyal.  I don't think I realized the depth of her strength until recently.  Time gives you that perspective.

A hand-made ornament from my mom

A family favorite, it's been around for at least 40 years.

My grandma Pacheco was able to visit us again this Christmas.  I've written about her before here. When I dropped her off at the train station I couldn't resist taking the shot below.  She needs assistance now, but she remains extremely tough.  She's 87 and she hopped on a train by herself from Grand Junction, Colorado and rode 22 hours to see us.   She lived through the depression, then WWII, then forged a life after that and raised three kids.  I fear we Americans aren't as tough anymore.  I suppose the times dictate much of that, and we don't struggle for anything now.  She's tough and she has a tremendous work ethic and she has character.  That's her legacy.

Before she left she gave me one of my grandfather's pocket knives.  She estimates he got it in the 1970's and carried it with him every day until he died.  It's scratched, rusted, and weathered, and it's perfect.  I'll keep it in a safe place and look at it from time to time to think about the legacy of the man who owned it.  He fought in WWII aboard the USS Oakland.  He was a part of the "Greatest Generation".  He was strong, patriotic, funny, and he had an incredible work ethic that puts me to shame. That's his legacy.

And so we arrive at the obvious question:  What is my legacy?  The troubling fact is that I don't know what it is.  I don't have kids, so there's no obvious answer in that regard.  Perhaps that is for other people to decide.  I know for sure, though, that my parents legacy lives on through me.  The person I am and the things I love came from them.  I feel them every day in the decisions I make and the way I interact with people.  My mom's strength is always with me, and although he doesn't play music as much, my dad's song still plays in my head every day.  It's important he knows he's still relevant in this man's eyes.

What She Means To Me

"Write it down in a blog so I know how you feel".  I've often heard this from Nikki.  She says it when she's frustrated and wants me to elaborate on something.  She's right, too.  The fact is, I'm not great at expressing myself verbally, I tend to be much better doing it in word form.  I'm not sure why. Perhaps its because talking about things takes so much energy.  Many times the details seem so unimportant.  If I've spent 6 hours with a friend and she asks me how he's doing, "Fine" is about all I can muster.  That's the truth.  He is doing fine.  Now, he may have told me many things about his life and kids and work, but talking about it will require at least 45 minutes of conversation and I don't see the point in re-hashing what I just got done experiencing.  I figure the details will come out in due time.

 However, some things are much more important.  On the  occasion of Nikki's  40th birthday, the details and the small things that need to be said are crucial.  They are the foundation of our marriage.  It's appropriate, then,  that I write about them in a blog so she knows how I feel.

I vividly remember the first time we crossed paths.  She walked directly in front of Jay's car in the school parking lot, looked at me, and smiled.  I still see that smile in these photos.  I was hooked.  18 years old and I'm ruined.  I immediately began the search to get her number.    I remember the excitement of preparing for the first date because she was the hot chick and I didn't know what to expect.  If she's horrible, at least I had a date with the hot chick.  If she's kind, life will be a state of nirvana:  A hot chick that you can take home to meet the parents!  As it turned out, my parents liked her too.  That was 1989.   We've been together 23 years.

Trying to encapsulate all the time, all the memories, all the meaningful experiences we've had together is virtually impossible.  Saying somebody means "everything" to you  is trite, unoriginal, and lazy.  It's the easy thing to say when you don't  want to think.  It's like saying "I love you this much" while spreading your arms as wide as you can.  I can't describe what she means to me in any measurable way because that doesn't do her justice.   I suppose the best way to describe her is to say she's irreplaceable.  I can't find another like her, and I can't function without her.  There's nobody else that will ever understand me the way she does, and love me in spite of it.  She's the most caring, generous, kind, and loving person I have ever known.

When my mother died, Nikki laid by me all night long and never left my side.  I was 21 and Nikki was 19.   The kindess of that act is monumental.   When you're 19 years old there are a lot of other things you would rather do than what she did that night.  It would have been easier to leave and come back the next day. But, she loved my mom, and she loved me as well.  Nothing was too overwhelming for her.  She laid by me and held my hand all night, I don't think we spoke much, there wasn't anything to say.  It was love in its purest and most kind form.  That is irreplaceable.

When I started the Air Force Academy, Nikki was 18.  We saw each other sporadically, a random weekend here or there was the norm.  I wouldn't have blamed her if she decided to do other things and see other people.  I know it was difficult for her because she was still in high school.  I managed to attend proms and homecomings, but I had a flat-top.  What high school girl wants to date a dude with a flat-top in 1991? There were a lot of other things she could have been doing.  Yet she waited.  She gave me her time when she could have chosen other friends and other people.  That is irreplaceable.

When I graduated from the Air Force Academy we were sent to Offutt Air Force Base in Omaha, Nebraska.    For three long years we were there.  It was freezing cold, or it was hot and humid.   There was nothing to do.  We met some great people, though in many ways it was miserable, but she made the most of it.  She supported my career, and she fit in.  I was gone a lot for training and for Air Force Soccer.  She forged ahead, alone.  She could have complained and made life difficult.  I wouldn't have blamed her.  She didn't.  That is irreplaceable.

When I got out of the Air Force I floundered around a bit trying to decide what I wanted to do.  I lost the first career when the tech bubble exploded, then had a steady one for 5 years, decided I wanted a new career, stayed in that career field for 18 months, then went back to the old one, then got laid off after another 5 years.  And she's still with me.  You see, she's the foundation of all that we do.  She's the solid, steady one that allows me to explore and is always there when I falter.  She's been completely supportive of all that I've done in my careers, although it surely hasn't been easy.  That is irreplaceable.

When our dogs got sick, I mean really sick, Nikki attended to them daily.  She hand washed their sores and made sure they were as comfortable as they could be.  I helped, but I wasn't in charge.  I watched her cry as she attended to them, knowing the inevitability of their death.  But she didn't falter.  She made sure they were taken care of and never wavered in her commitment to them. I saw the same gentle kindness she showed me years ago when I needed her.  Irreplaceable.

I tore my achilles tendon about 5 months ago and became nearly incapacitated (shortly after losing my job).  I was completely vulnerable and in a lot of pain, and there she was by my side, making sure I had what I needed and that I was comfortable.  In many ways I was like a child again, but she never complained or made me feel useless, which is how I felt.   Irreplaceable.

I'm healed now and we're plugging along.  She's still the foundation, the link to the past, and the road to the future.  I hope I've given her happiness along the way and although I'm nowhere near perfect, I hope I'm adequate and give her what she needs.  I've been fortunate to have her in my life and I know I wouldn't be the same person without her.  I'm more grounded, more mature, loving, caring, and kind because of her.  She's taught me so much about being a good person.  I hope she knows she's irreplaceable.  That's what I feel.  That's what I know.

Redneck Special

Inspiration comes from the most random of elements, and it's typically a surprise when it happens.  I have found that the harder I try to find it, the more elusive inspiration becomes.  For me, it's best to just move around and see what I see and wait for it to hit me upside the head. In this case, an abandoned La-Z-Boy and a bumper sticker, both from completely unrelated sites, provided exactly what I needed to pull an idea together.

Robert and I get together at least once a month to talk about ideas and determine what might be interesting  for a photo/design project.  We toss ideas around and many of them are simply disregarded for lack of interest.   Today's ideas were either lukewarm or had been in progress for several months.  We didn't have anything new and interesting.  We ate lunch and took a back road towards my house when we spotted the abandoned chair.

We pulled over and took a closer look.  The material was a nice light blue velour that looked like it would show nicely against the nearby wheat field.   Upon closer inspection the top of the backrest was covered in bird crap and there were numerous stains on the fabric.   I wondered if he was game for photos.

"You willing to sit in that thing?", I asked.

"I can't get crabs from it, can I?", he replied.

"No way", I said, hoping I was right.

We decided to come back at dusk because not much good comes from shooting photos in the midday sun. I knew Thompson's Corner was nearby so we decided to kill some time there.

I've driven by the place at least 100 times but never went in.  Apparently it's the oldest bar in Solano County and the architecture and decor certainly reflect this.  It's a two story building with a high pitched roof.  The main level is the bar and the upper level used to be a dance hall, although it's no longer used.  The bartender said the San Francisco symphony played there once.  The interior decor fits exactly what you would imagine a "local dive bar" to look like.  The walls and floor are all wood and the ceiling is littered with bras and boxer shorts.   Nearly every inch of space is covered with signs, graffiti, stickers, mirrors and whatever else you can imagine hanging in a bar of that age.  One could spend 3 days reading the walls and not be finished.  It's brilliantly tacky.  I'll be back.

We bellied up and ordered a few beers and considered how we might make the shots in the chair.  We had some  decent ideas, but it wasn't until we saw a bumper sticker on the wall that the theme became crystal clear.

"Robert, read that one on the upper right hand side".

"I came here to drink and fuck, and I'm almost done drinking", he read aloud.  We both giggled.

There it was:  the dude in the chair would be a loud, belligerent redneck.

The cooler behind the bar had Pabst Blue Ribbon, a redneck delight.  I indulged in a few and we knew we had the perfect prop.

When dusk rolled around we went back to the site and got the chair set up in the wheat and Nikki tagged along as our lovely lighting assistant.  As it turned out, Robert had a fresh farmer's tan that fit the theme perfectly.

We shot for about a half hour and tried as many different poses as we could muster in a single chair.
On the ride home we had a debate about crabs.  I knew a guy in high school who claims he got crabs from a girl simply sitting on his lap.  I suspect it's urban myth, but for Robert's sake I'm hoping it can't be transmitted so easily because that chair has seen some things.

Oh well, at least we got the shot.  That's all that matters, right?