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Saturday, March 11, 2006
The Gentle Soul
My Uncle Harry Spellman breathed his last early this morning, surrendering to a battle with Alzheimer’s that lasted the better part of a decade.
I’m not sure how to sum up my Uncle, other than the fact that he truly was that rarest of birds in this day and age: a gentle soul. Not “he knew when gentleness was appropriate” or “he was easy going” or even “he was good at curbing his anger”. All those things were certainly true of him, but it was more than that. He didn’t “act” gentle. He was gentle, and that’s something you don’t often see.
Uncle Harry had Downs Syndrome. It’s easy to look at someone with a disability and see only that disability and I have no doubt that’s what my uncle faced each day of his life. Downs meant that he’d never have the sorts of experiences that most of us take for granted: getting married. Filling out a tax form. Having a letter printed in the newspaper. Watching his daughter play Wicked Step-Sister #2 in the school play.
But if Downs Syndrome is all you saw when you met my Uncle Harry, I’d say that you’ve never really met my Uncle Harry. Here was a man that loved and hurt, succeeded and failed, and absolutely did the very best he could every day of his life.
I’m proud to have known him.
My Uncle Harry loved… loved monster movies. It was not a passing interest or occasional hobby. He talked about monster movies the way other men talk about their wedding day. In fact, it was impossible to have a conversation with him that lasted more than 60 seconds that didn’t eventually steer itself toward monsters. I’m not talking about these freak-circus films they have today – Uncle Harry liked the old stuff. Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi… Dracula, The Wolfman, The Mummy. No special effects, just grainy black and white, lit like a nightmare. He’d seen them all. I have to confess I have no idea what’s written on his gravestone, but if it were up to me, it would say:
Harry Dale Spellman Jr.
Boo!
The guy was a stitch, he really was. He was my weird, funny little uncle and I didn’t mind showing him off.
A few weeks ago, I had a dream:
I was at a party, or some sort of gathering. Some people I knew, others I didn’t… laughing, drinking, trading phone numbers. A short guy burst into the room, with an entourage behind him. Most parties have a Star of the Show and this guy was definitely it. He was muscular and shirtless, with a leather jacket. He had long, Hollywood hair like an underwear model. He lifted his arms up with rock star magnetism and announced to the room that, now that he’d arrived, this party could officially begin.
It was Uncle Harry.
As he approached me, I was dumbstruck. “Uncle Harry?” I said. “I heard you weren’t doing well. Apparently I heard wrong!”
“Me?” he said. “I’m fantastic! Come over here and give your uncle a hug!”
So I did. At the end of the hug, though, he took my face in his hands and, before I could protest, he kissed me full on the mouth. I jumped back.
“You okay?” he said.
“Yeah… that’s… fine…” I said.
He nodded. “Yeah, I understand. People have their hang-ups. Don’t worry about it.”
And, as often happens in dream-logic, I knew exactly what he meant. This was my Uncle Harry as he truly was all along: confident, warm, articulate. For the first time in my 29 years of knowing him, I didn’t have to reach through the fog of Downs Syndrome to talk, really talk, to him. I thought, this is how everyone should be. This is how everyone should relate. At that moment, there was nothing in the world more important than the connection I had with my Uncle Harry.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was my sister, Lauren, holding a Polaroid photo. “Have you seen this?” she asked.
It was a photo of Uncle Harry as he was in real-life: aged, gray, suffering from Alzheimer’s, his head resting against a white pillow.
“Uncle Harry died last night,” Lauren said.
I turned around and Rock Star Harry had gone. All that was really left to do was spend time consoling my family and allow them to console me.
Later the following day, I told my Mom about my dream. She assured me that Uncle Harry was still with us, but it wouldn’t be long. I told her how difficult it was for me, living in Southern California, so far away from the people I love the most at a time like this.
Mom said, “I know, Sweetheart. Lately, though, everyone that’s close to Uncle Harry has had the feeling that, one by one, he’s saying goodbye to each of us. I know you’d be here if you could. Maybe that dream was his goodbye to you.”
And now he’s gone.
I know… scratch that, I don’t know anything… but I believe I’ll meet up with him again in the by and by. After I’m dead and gone, I think I’d like Uncle Harry to show me around the place, give me the grand tour, hand me my harp and halo.
Most of all, I can’t wait to talk to him… really talk.
My weird, funny little uncle.
The guy with the monster movies.
The gentle soul.
Right now, though… I just really, really miss him.
posted by Jeremy Bear 4:14 PM
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Neglected blawg, ah wish ah could quit yew.
I suppose I should start with where I've been.
First of all, in response to a few emails I've received lately: no, I'm not dead.
It's been a curious couple of months. Good. Difficult. Trying. Plentiful.
In short, I've been... not full-out sick exactly, but extremely run down. The consensus is that it's probably a strange allergy. I haven't been blogging or replying to emails or seeing much of anyone socially. It's a lousy cycle: the email in the Inbox continues to pile, making me feel more guilty by the day. I think, "I need to reply to all these nice people," and then I realize that if I dive in, I'll be starting near the end of December, which makes me feel even worse. "Certainly I can't write a blog entry with all these good people waiting for emails," I think, and the spiral continues.
Meanwhile it's all in my mind and it's my problem and, good lord, I feel completely incapacitated if I get less than 10 hours of sleep lately... which I know isn't healthy and it's probably a problem I should be addressing more actively, but there's no time. No time for email, no time for blogs, no time to spend with Carey, there's really only time for one thing:
Drawing.
Work has been an avalanche lately. In fact, thanks to a recent contact I've made, I've been spending a significant amount of hours doing concept work (for a company that may or may not be pleased if I mentioned them here, suffice it to say they're big and they make movies and their name rhymes with "Creamworks") and later this year, stuff I'm working on now will likely be seen by no less than millions of people.
...And I guess that should make me pretty excited, but mostly I just want to sleep.
I really do appreciate the people that have written me notes lately, asking me to pen an update. Seriously, it makes me feel... well, lousy, initially... but in the long run, really terrific.
If you're someone who checks in on this blog with any regularity, thank you. It means a great deal to me that you care enough to include me in your list of occassional clicks.
For what it's worth, I've missed this.
I've been sitting on this news for awhile, but I'd be remiss not to extend a big Congratulations to my mom for recently being honored by The Akron Women's History Project as their 2006 Woman of the Year in the category of Courage.
A ceremony was held last week.
If anyone could be considered deserving, it's my mom.
On to entertainment news.
Um.
In films, though, several are coming out this year that look at worst interesting and at best fantastic.
And others? Well...
Hey, remember that 24 hour comic I did a year or so ago? Not to spoil it, but it involved two young girls going on a journey together. At one point, mermaids were mentioned. At the end, the girls decide to, hand and hand, take a gigantic leap off of a long pier into the ocean. Nothing mind-bending, but mildly unique.
Uh, can you say "eerie"?
There! I have just violated your very soul!
I think I'd like to incorporate a regular feature on my blog called "Not to be a prick, but..."
Essentially, it would be an opportunity for me to gently explain something that I feel should be obvious to the world, but many folks seem to miss. I know, that sounds horrid and arrogant, but, really: you should know these things.
I'll start with a couple that are close to my heart...
Not to be a prick, but please stop sending large files as email attachments.
Email was built to send text messages from point A to point B. The capability to attach additional files wasn't meant for libraries of hi-res photos or movies or enormous sound files. Just little bits and bobs.
As a rule, have a cap at 2MB, 3MB max. Check the size before you send. Email programs choke on files that are bigger than that. If you have a 20MB file, for example, find another option. (Stick it on a CD and mail it. Buy server space and stick it up on a server for me to download [it's easy and fairly cheap!]. Compress the file if you're able.) Whatever.
2-3MB max. Please.
Not to be a prick, but did you know that there's a difference between chemical/biological weapons and nuclear devices?
There seems to be a widely-accepted rumor floating around that we've found neither anywhere in Iraq. In fact, we were attacked with some of the former (in the form of sarin gas) in 2004, but we've, to date, found none of the latter.
Just to be clear.
Not to be a prick, but The DaVinci Code really, truly is a work of fiction. And much of the "evidence" found throughout really, truly is fictional too. A marvelous book, to be sure. It is, however, something someone made up.
Not to be a prick, but please try to spend 30 seconds fact-checking before you forward emails along. Snopes is your friend. Use it. Abuse it.
Well, it's happened. Arrested Development has been cancelled. Fox, in their wisdom, ran the remaining 4 episodes during the OPENING CEREMONIES OF THE WINTER OLYMPICS, FOLLOWING A NON-EXISTENT PROMO CAMPAIGN.
The best show in the history of television is off the air and no one seems to have noticed.
And who do I blame? You. You, faithful reader, for failing to hype this extraordinary series to the heavens! You could have saved television, but you said no! It's back to fork-in-the-eye drivel like American Idol, Two and a Half Men and Desperate Housewives. It's all your fault!
It was you.
Podcasts.
I don't know what to think about the podcast phenomenon. I love it and I subscribe to several, but I can't help but try to wrap my brain around where it's all going. Vidcasts are the new black, and that makes sense, but I'm still enamored with the audio-only, throw-it-on-the-iPod-and-listen-in-the-car-or-at-work version. I can appreciate the video side of it, but I don't have the time or attention. Also, I don't have a video iPod.
I've kicked around the notion of doing my own podcast, but I always struggle with the basic questions: is it worth the time? Is it worth the effort? Is it worth the expense? For pete's sake, what would it be about and would anyone in the wide world care?
On the other hand, one of the most cosistently viewed features of my site is the audio journal I kept of my 24 Hour Comic. People enjoy something they can listen to. Well, if it's interesting.
I have a handful of friends that either have podcasts of their own or are in the process of starting one up. God bless 'em. I'll subscribe, no doubt about it. Me, I just don't really have time.
Of course, as my wife can attest, I do a really fantastic Bill Cosby impression and I simply don't know how else to share it with the world.
I'll eventually do a list of great podcasts, but I'm too lazy at the moment.
Big family news (and it's a shame you had to scroll down this far to get to it):
My wife, the unstoppable Carey Bear, has taken the leap at long last. She's resigned as Banquet and Catering Manager at Virginia Country Club and has enrolled in the cosmetology program at Golden West College in Huntington Beach.
We're thrilled and a little scared. It's the right thing to do, though. This is far too long in the making and, speaking frankly, it should have happened long ago. Classes begin in a week and a half and if Carey stays on track, she should be finished in roughly a year. And that's a miracle.
She's going to try to take on a small, part-time gig somewhere, but for all intents and purposes we're going to be a single income home for awhile. Not that I'm nervous. Gulp.
But good for her and congratulations.
Also, last weekend we we're officially approved for a loan to work on our kitchen, living room and office. At long last, we're going to make a few improvements around here.
Not a loan, really, it's a home equity line of credit. Whatever. It's tens of thousands of dollars that we'll have to eventually pay off, put it that way.
Oh, and I'm writing a play.
Finally, a Happy 56th Birthday to my dad.
posted by Jeremy Bear 5:56 PM
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