Toms Place

The memory came first, then I thought to include the video. Seems like I'm on some YouTube kick, and like most things, I expect it'll pass.

In the summer of 1982 when I was 11, Alice was 12, and Sophie 13, our family went camping. Not motor-home, running water with cots camping, but tents and sleeping bags on the rocky floor camping. This time we hauled our gear to Toms Place, California which is considered part of Sierra Nevada. About a seven hour drive from Cerritos, it's pretty with lots of green trees and blue skies.

One day my parents let us kids go to the river by ourselves; I think the novelty of our independence is one reason why I remember this incident so vividly. We brought along Sophie's single-speaker boom box, and played a cassette recording of "Vacation" by the Go-Go's, which she had taped from KROQ.

We sat on big flat rocks, under both shade and sun, with the cold rushing waters right at our feet. It was a pleasant moment because none of us were fighting, we were grateful to be just the three of us this afternoon.

I thought my sisters were the coolest -- older, and interested in fashion, and they could smack me down with their words at any time. Actually, they were cool despite that last one. We related the words "back here at home there's nothing to do" to our experience camping, with nothing to do except sit and listen to a song about same.

I still don't totally get it. Will Alice never experience summer vacation again, or does she now know only summer vacation?

Last Summer

By most weather reports, winter arrived late this year.

My experience feels different.

To press play above is to hear the song that makes me think about Alice again and again. Gwen Stefani sings "it looks like an early winter for us" and I think how winter really did start early for us, on September 19 to be exact. I know I'm taking the lyrics out of context.

It's poignant that Alice died on just about the last day of summer, given that she was a summer girl. She loved the sun and warm air and had a perpetually glowing tan. Her last summer was so full of hope, too. Hope for exciting things in San Diego as she neared completion of her master's degree in kineseology, hope for her niece as she was watching her grow, hope generally for good things ahead.

This winter has been going on for a very long time now, and the end isn't in sight.

At least the reminder is a pop song, which Alice enjoyed blasting on her stereo, too.

Alice. And Mel and Flo and Vera.

It may be true. As time passes, maybe only the good memories endure, and the recollections of more tumultuous times with Alice fade.

My friend Giuseppe is always playing something on the telephone, and this past week, in his typical wry fashion, he played the theme to the TV show Alice via YouTube. I got lost for a moment, transported to the summers when I was 9 and 10.



On weekday mornings, while my mom was occupied around the house and my dad was at work, Sophie, Alice and I would sit in front of our 19" black and white television and watch reruns while eating Shredded Wheat and Cocoa Pebbles mixed together. I Love Lucy was on at 9:00 a.m., and at 9:30 a.m. was Alice. My mom loved Vera, and we found Flo and Mel and the adult humor irresistable. This snippet is a sing-along version to the credits from the first season.

Once the program ended, it was time to run outside and find out who was around to ride bikes with, play hide and seek, or go to Pioneer Chicken for some salty and greasy treats. The possibilities in the summer air were endless.

This pleasant scene is all the happier because I know it wasn't something I appreciated by myself. Sophie and Alice shared their delight in the show with me, too. To the extent that maybe Alice has tracked down Vic Tayback in the sweet hereafter and has said hello? Huh.

Guess what I found

It happened for the second time earlier today.

I was in the kitchen when Peter yelled "Guess what I found!" My first thought was oh, something I lost, that I've been seeking, something that will make me feel better to have again? And in the back of my head was, Alice. Like Peter might find Alice while rummaging through L's things.

I had a 0.5 second hope that my emptiness was going to be filled by what Peter found, and I was going to have relief. Maybe not finding Alice herself, but some message from her, reassuring me that I was a good brother, that she would always know that I loved her dearly even in her death.

So that I could rest a little bit.

This burden, my hell, is continuing to live through the suddenness of Alice's death with all the unresolved stuff, what I never said, what I took for granted with her, what I never quite did.

What Peter found was the squeegee L had chewed, and that we need to replace. Oh, that. The first time Peter asked me, he had found her crayons.

That something lost was located somehow gives me hope that other things I am seeking can also be found. Like less sorrow. And more real connectedness.

What I was doing on September 19, 2006.

For a while I was trying to remember exactly where I was the moment Alice died. Was I thinking of her? Was she somehow involved with me? Did I feel anything specific from her?

Now I know.

From the publishing history of the website I've created for my business, I learned that I was online developing the site just as Alice was driving. There is a line that reads:
09/19/06 22:52 00:02 Completed Done!

What does this mean?

It means that at a time when my life looked mundane and uneventful, at its heart was pure and intense tragedy. Irrevocable agony was taking place 3,000 miles away, while I clicked and dragged through the minutes.

I think Alice would be proud of my work. I think it was the creativity I shared with her that helped me produce the site as it is today at www.ppd-usa.com.

At the same time, she likely would have felt competitive with me, as a sibling naturally would.

More songs

Today on the radio for the second time I heard that song by Nelly Furtado "Say it Right," and somehow I imagine Alice really liking that song. I like it, yes, and I can see Alice turning it up when she heard it. It's really breezy and catchy.

It's from an album that came out in 2004, so it's not impossible that she knew it. I wonder.

Of course, whenever I hear Natasha Bedingfield sing "Unwritten" I think of Alice. That was the song Tiffany wrote out for Alice's funeral.

Ping pong was on a list of what's "in" for 2007. Alice was ahead of her time.

I got it.

I got it. I dreamed again of Alice last night, and got one of my wishes.

Alice was returning from a journey on a bus, and I was waiting for her. I knew that soon she would leave forever, and in the first of two similarities to Sjoekje's dream, she didn't really know this.

She appeared, wearing white -- the other element shared in Sjoekje's dream -- and I charged at her, I didn't want to miss her. I immediately hugged her close to me, tight, and told her how very much I loved her, always. My words were certain, she knew I meant what I was saying.

Next thing I know, I'm back at my mom's house, where many visitors had brought dogs -- a reference to our New Year's Eve guests -- but in this scene I didn't mind, because I was blissful, having just had a wish granted to see, hug, and affirm my undying love to Alice.

I am feeling a little bit lighter today, with 2007 here and the increasing distance from 2006. Ironic when I look at my waistline.