Visit the kelpforest....

In fond memory:

Stimpson J. Cat
? 1996 - May 23, 2012



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I hope my last post wasn't triggery for anyone. I realize it may have been and I apologize for that. Thanks for your comments, I'm sorry I haven't responded to any yet, but I will. And I have gotten some recommendations for counselors, although I still need to make an appointment.

A year and 15 hours ago, my dad passed away. I wish I were at home with other people who miss him, but instead I'm in Portland OR, with people I like, but I don't feel I know very well, because we're supposed to be professionals, y'know. I suppose it's kind of a good thing, because I have to focus on what's being discussed so I can report back to my superiors, and y'know, not get fired for going all the way to Portland and not knowing what went on at the meeting, and it's kept my mind away from thinking about it. However, when we ended for the day and four of us went out to dinner to a "sustainable" sushi restaurant (Bamboo Sushi, if anyone near Portland reads this) because they supposedly use albacore from the MSC-certified fishery we make recommendations for, ha-ha! And Dad liked sushi, and after I'd had a glass of Malbec (Steve offered to buy me a beer, but I'm not much of a beer drinker) and we'd been seated, I'd thought I'd splurge in honor of my dad, and I ordered a flight of sake and an extra glass. Not that either I or my dad was any sort of sake connoisseur, but he liked it occasionally and he loved sushi as well, even if he was late coming to it - he was not a big fan of Japanese culture, being a WWII vet in the Pacific theater and all.

I asked the server for her recommendation and of course, she chose the second highest priced one on the menu, but what the hell. I asked for an extra sake glass. They arrived in a little wooden platform with a divot for each glass; I took the extra and poured a little from each sake glass in the flight into it. All of them actually were really good; a little fruity and sweet, I think dad would have liked them. I would have set a piece of one of the rolls we ordered aside, but we were all sharing and there wasn't really any place to put it. When I was done with the rest of it I took the glass I'd filled and set it in the center divot by itself and stared at it for awhile. I thought about leaving it there, but then I thought Dad would have been pissed off spending that much for something and then leaving it for the staff to pour down the drain. So I tossed it down before we walked out the door.

So I just spent on alcohol what could've bought a decent lunch out for all five of us at home.

You know how every once in while you might do something, kind of hoping someone will notice and maybe make a comment? That's ok; they don't know me that well, just acquaintances really, even though we've been on the same team for four years, and I'm not about to bum them out after a nice meal.

It's about time for John to get up to go to work, so I'm going to go give him a call. And then see if Tumblr is working yet because I could really use a good belly laugh before I crawl into this nicely-made-but-not home bed.

One of our last walks around the block before he went back in the hospital. It was a gorgeous day, having rained that morning; you can see the clouds in the background. He saw me taking these and told me, "Eh, you don't want me in your nice pictures." I assured him that I did, very much so. Then we went home and I packed to go to the Bay Area for work for the weekend. The next Wednesday, after an xray by his doctor, he was admitted to the hospital once again; he'd only been home for about a month and a half.


The following is an account of my father's death. I'm leaving this public because after my mother passed away, I found similar stories comforting, but maybe I'm just morbid. Please skip if you find such things distressing, or if needed I could make a filter, because there's likely to be more related stuff here for a while.

Alternatively, other entries from this journal about my dad are here - or by clicking Dad in the tag cloud on the right on my LJ page. They may be happy or not so much. Also, I had made a journal for him where I was transcribing some of the stories he told me at deadwood_bob, although I always intended to write down more of them. If you knew my dad and have a story about him, I would love it if you could write it down and send it to me, and I'll include it there as an entry.

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Robert Stephen Laughlin
June 14, 1926 - May 1, 2011

( Pics you may have seen before... )

(To the tune of My Grandfather's Clock - words by Garrison Kiellor)

My grandmother's cat was too big for the shelf
So he slept every night in a bed
He was almost as big as Grandma herself
'Cause three times a day he was fed
He was fed tuna scraps as he lay in Grandma's lap
On his back with a big napkin tied
He ate as much as he could hold
'Til he got too wide.

( Goldie, and my grandmother, and us... )

Hi mom. It's hit me several times today, that it's your birthday. You would have been 69. I'm sure if you were still here, I'd be arguing with you about something, as much as John argues with his mom and grandma. But at the same time, if you were still here, would we be in the place we are now?

I wish you could see your grandkids. I know they'd love to see you; they ask about you quite often. I don't know if we're the best parents - I'm sure we could be better - but we're doing as best we can. For that matter, I think John would have suprised you. I don't think you thought much of him when you first met him, but he's the stronger of us, although I think I've got him beat as to stubborness. We have been having some differences lately, but seriously, I would have not made it through the crisis earlier this year without him. I think, though, that you approved at the end.

In previous years, I'd get a card, write a message in it to you, and burn it. Today, I send a note off into the ether of the internet. That was just getting started when you left us; I know you'd have loved it. You were the original techie in our family, learning Cobol and that weird complicated print graphics program I still think was way too involved. I wish I could show you Photoshop and drawing tablets; you always loved artwork too and never had space for it - I wonder what you'd think of all the digital art people do now? I do remember arguing with you about whether photography was art or not (you didn't think so); I wonder how you'd feel about fractals?

I know you passed way this month too, a few days before Halloween. But I'd rather remember you on your birthday. Ah, don't worry. We never skipped Halloween because of what happened to you; I know you'd have hated that. You'd be shocked that this year, I'm actually going to try sewing a costume for Angus; I've always disliked sewing clothes, but have been known to do it for crafts, which I think costumes count as.

Wish you were here, mom. So many things I wish I could ask. Miss you much.

(More October thoughts on mom)

First of all, please go to the L.A. Times and read this:

GUARDIANS FOR PROFIT
When a Family Matter Turns Into a Business
http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-conserve13nov13,0,2846858.story

( Then read my friend Beth's story... )

Helen Jones was lucky - a step grandson contacted her and started court proceedings to get the conservatorship away from Ms. MS. After a lengthy and expensive court battle, she is now under his care, and her conservator is considering filing criminal charges.

On Friday, October 13, the final hearing concerning Elizabeth Fairbanks estate is to be at the San Bernadino County courthouse at 10:45 a.m (map and directions). Ms. MS is expected to testify that nothing is left of it. Beth is giving testimony as to her experiences with Ms. MS, and has contacted many of the families who commented on the L.A. Times article. Helen Jones is also attending and we would like as many people as possible to gather out in front of the courthouse at least an hour earlier than that. If there enough people, ABC News will also be there. Beth's family will be making signs. If you have Friday free, and can make it out to San Bernadino, we'd appreciate your support.

Ms. MS portrays herself as a champion of seniors who can no longer care for themselves, has even been featured in AARP magazine as "The Lifesaver," and is a member of various committees on ethics and promoting licensing and reform for her field. She donates to numerous charities, has recently sold property to Loma Linda University for 2.5 million, and for some reason it seems to very difficult to get anywhere in the Inland Empire legal system with her (the hearsay is lawyers and judges are afraid of her). Nevertheless, there seem to be an awful lot of people who've had bad experiences with her. There has been no follow-up since the Times article, which was published last fall (other than Helen Jones case), and we want Ms. MS to know there are people prepared to fight her.

( Further reading: )

When I was five, I told my dad I wanted an alligator for a pet. He told me I could have one when I was fifteen.

When I was in fourth or fifth grade (can't remember exactly what year now), there used to be a alligator/crocodile park close to one of the theme parks near my home. Remembering back on it now, it was probably small and overcrowded, although the animals seemed well taken care of; at the time I thought it was a fascinating place. That was where I dragged all of my girlfriends for my birthday, when I was in fourth or fifth grade. Most of them put on the typical girl-afraid-of reptile act, but I think at least a few of them found themselves reluctantly interested. I think I got one or two of them to actually touch a snake, including my best friend Anne, who was terrified of them; she was shocked that it wasn't slimy.

In Girl Scouts, I was always the girl in my troop who got woken up in the middle of the night to get a spider out of somebody's tent. One time, it was a chicken; not really all that scary an animal, but I suppose at three o'clock in the morning when you aren't expecting it, it could be a bit nerve-wracking to wake up and find an Indian Jungle Fowl on top of your sleeping bag. And when we had emergency-preparedness challenge where someone pretended to sprain her ankle and the rest of us had to carry her back to camp, I tried to calm everyone down when the cows in the field started coming through the busted fence onto the road behind us; I don't know what they thought they were going to do, just suddenly charge and trample us for no reason?

On my fifteenth birthday, after opening my gifts, I turned to Dad and said, "OK, where's my alligator?" He blanched and replied "Dammit, you were supposed to have forgotten by now!" I laughed and put him at ease; by that time I had realized that large reptilian predators do not make good household pets, and sharing the bathroom with two brothers was crowded enough without putting a creature with a lot of teeth into the mix.

So maybe we had a few things in common, but I can't say I was a big fan of Steve Irwin - my main reaction to his show was rolling my eyes, and it seemed that he often put getting a good camera shot above safety. There's such a thing as a healthy respect for the business end of an animal that's either venomous or could do you a serious injury, that he just didn't seem to have. However, I watched one of his interviews the next day, and to his credit, he emphasized (as he pointed out all of his numerous scars) that any injury he'd ever gotten from an animal was his own fault (although aren't you supposed to learn before you get that many?). I've worked with pelagic stingrays ( Pteroplatytrygon violacea, formerly Dasyatis violacea, same genus); they are not gentle or harmless if they think they're threatened. They can arch their tails clear over their backs, they can aim, and there's a lot of muscle behind it, too - that spine is just like a serrated knife. Maybe he just didn't take that into account.

But if his enthusiasm got anyone interested in animals, conservation, zoology, or even changed anyone's mind that "ugly" or dangerous critters serve a purpose in the environment and shouldn't be killed just because you're afraid of them, then that was a good thing. I know I had two little boys here who took the news pretty hard and needed a lot of comforting and drying of tears before going to bed the other night. Gareth sobbed and cried, and Angus was just as affected although he reacts to grief with a stiff body, clenched fists, and angry tears, refusing to be soothed - he immediately wanted to go and punish the stingray, and we had to explain that it was only trying to defend itself, and that's exactly what the Crocodile Hunter always tried to prevent. We've always taught them that animals are allowed to protect themselves, and the cats will scratch them if they're bothered.

We finally got out a candle, took it out on the patio, lit it and said good-bye to Steve as we watched the flame. Rituals seem to help, and they were finally able to calm down enough to go to sleep. I know it won't be as easy for Terri and her kids.

He was only a little older than me - we were born in the same year.

*sigh*

If I ever catch my kids picking up a snake by the tail, though, they're going to wish it had bitten them.

Afterward: John was angry with me for letting it slip. He thought they didn't need to know about it, and it could've waited. Maybe so, but he'd rather they found out from turning the show on the next day? At school, when a friend told them? When is a convenient time for a child's grief?

In an out of the way corner of Fish Harbor, between the Al Larson Boatyard and the prison, I found a reminder of how Terminal Island used to be.



Engraved on glass and granite, I found a very sad story. One I was not aware of.

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