A note about the type

Greg was a man of letters (and postcards, journals, emails, post-it notes, etc). Leaving aside his profession for a post, I'd like to share a little about his personal correspondence. My dad had such distinctive blocky (mostly capitals) print. I can't really remember what his signature looks like, but I'd know that printing anywhere. So choosing the correct card was a ritual unto itself. Then there were the creative salutations and closings, random quotes and excerpts, unusual turns of phrases, and such attention to detail.

This was a "Congratulations on your new job!" card. Undated, which was rare and means I don't remember which job. 

This is the inside of one of my favorite cards that I have ever received, from when I was a kid and had scarlet fever. The cover is a drawing of me with a thermometer sticking out of my mouth. This is the inside (Oz themed, of course).

"And come to the Emerald City to get a new throat!" 

I actually forgot about this, but when I was digging through a box recently I found a fat stack of postcards from my first year in San Diego. They were all from Greg, and as I looked at the front of them I remembered that he used to pick them out at Farmer's Market. Sometimes they were invitations to the movies or a ballgame, sometimes movie quotes, sometimes just reminders that somebody loved me and was thinking about me. I think about some of the homesick kids that lived in my dorm that first year and realize how lucky I was to get so much mail. Email was kind of a thing by then but somehow, Greg knew I would be most comforted by something physically in my hand. When I look at these postcards now, what amazes me most is how tender and affectionate the language is that he uses. On the back of a postcard! For God and the entire USPS to read in transit! These are postcards from a man who was well-versed in the art of not giving a fuck about showing he cares.

This time of year always gets me thinking about Christmas tags: Greg and his brother used to make a game of writing each other's tags on Christmas presents. It was never "To: Greg From: Gary" or "For: Gary Love: Greg." The tags were ribald, witty, and full of inside jokes that you had to be really cool in order to get. Lots of references to the Twilight Zone, the Godfather, Ed Wood. I am bummed I don't have pictures of these, but the real ones are in a box, somewhere.


So, if I could just hop on my soapbox for one minute here: write all the letters. To all the everyone. Seriously! Be true and be kind. Include compliments that are specific and authentic. Get comfortable with being vulnerable on paper. Make drawings for your kids that are funny or sweet, so that they can hoard them forever and remember always that they are well loved.

12/19/17
My dearest pop,
Still missing you like nobody's business, but...

True Blue Love

The Dodgers are going to the World Series! God, but a lot has happened since the last time that was true. 29 years is a very long time, a lifetime in fact for Dillon Gregory. My emotions have ridden so close to the surface since Thursday - manic and weepy and excited and unbelieving. I do not have a long sustained post within me (not now, anyway) but it was important to me to think about Greg, to tell the world I was thinking about Greg, and to have him be part of this incredibly special time.

One of my earliest memories of Dodger Stadium is that I loved it because it was the place where I could yell for a long time without constraint, and I was a really loud kid. We watched a lot more games on TV than at the stadium then, which was probably better for a little kid anyway because I could follow the game easier and learn more about the players. Then in college I went through a short-lived and ill-advised pretension about baseball being low class whereas I was an intellectual (gross!) and briefly hid my love of the game. Grateful that passed as quickly as it did.

I am so grateful for Chavez Ravine; especially in the last 8 years, it has been there for me through grief and heartbreak and loneliness and upheaval. It's my church more than anywhere else except the ocean. Being there calms my heart and guides my perspective, so here are my favorite lessons from baseball:

1. The past and the future matter, but the present is where it's at. This season, this game, this inning, this at bat, this pitch. Baseball reminds me more than everything else to Be. Here. Now. The past is treated with respect and the future is treated with anticipation, but neither of them are allowed to color the Glorious Now.

2. That said, the past is constantly part of the present and in our Dodger hearts. Referring back to important events, paying tribute to Dodger legends, showing love for Dodger memories. This is how I aim to keep Greg a part of my life - mostly joyfully, sometimes painfully, always authentically.

3. Accept change. Despite my vociferous objections and impassioned refusals, somehow A. J. Ellis stayed traded. Bullshit! Our players change, our records change, even our seats have changed from when Greg was alive, but true blue love stays true. It's forever.

Daddio, you were SO CLUTCH. I really really wish that you were here for this. I'd like to think that if you can see me anywhere, it's at Blue Heaven on Earth, yelling and jumping and feeling all the feels. Feeling so excited. Feeling so close to you. Being right here, in the Glorious Now.

Happy World Series, everyone!!! LET'S GO DODGERS!!!

Ephemeral is as ephemeral does

Semi-recently, someone came over my house for the first time. He was looking at my picture wall and commented:
-That polaroid is getting ruined.
-Yeah.
-You should keep it in one of those dark boxes for photos.
-Nope.
-It's getting too much sun on the wall there.
-Thank you, Captain Obvious!
That's when he got wise and changed the subject.

A carefully preserved photograph in excellent condition where I never look at it, or a slowly ruined photograph on the wall where I smile at it every day while it lasts?

I stand by my decision.

I'd say 85% of the time, here are things that I believe:
Everything is ephemeral: experiences, things, relationships. This is oddly reassuring instead of frightening.
Even the 15% of black dogs barking is ephemeral, and I just have to wait it out.
Most people are trying their best most of the time.

Oh, and one more:
Fuck the "What If" game, it's a waste of time.

It's worthwhile and fulfilling to play "What If" with the future, dreams and goals are beautiful to have. But playing "What If" with the past is a pointless endeavor...that ship has sailed, homes.

This is not the same as forgetting or not caring- I actually think this attitude has deepened my appreciation for memories, because I can remember them sweetly or neutrally, instead of trying to fix them and/or poke myself in the eye.

So here's some stuff that I've enjoyed remembering about Greg today on his birthday:
He was super vain about the six pack he cultivated after getting sober, and would mow the lawn shirtless.
Greg watched TV laying on his side on the floor, with a paper plate for an ashtray, and he had the elbow callous to prove it.
At Ralph's he would always get Red Vines for me, cake donuts for Dillon, and Oreos for Cesar. Dillon and I have always been such repetitive eaters, Greg never realized that Cesar got so sick of Oreos that he looked at them cross-eyed for years after we moved out.
I was horribly embarrassed as a kid because my parents were both incorrigible flirts; somehow, I've become one too.
Along those lines, one time Greg shamelessly used me as a prop when we ran into Katharine Ross in the 80s at the pet store on Crescent Heights. She was very charming.
I knew he liked Pong and Pac-Man back in the day, but it was still surprising when he came to visit New York one time and ended up playing some Godfather playstation game with Cesar for like 4 hours straight, while it got dark outside and I whined about how hungry I was.
We used to play skeeball for hours at Kiddieland before there was the Grove. He had a special bank shot, which I still use.
He used to do this crazy dance during the opening song of shows like Boston Legal and In Living Color.

Maybe some of that stuff I've talked about before, but I think most of it I haven't - either because it seemed inconsequential or because it felt like digging around in a wound. What a great sense of gratitude that I have to be able to type easily, with a smile on my face, remembering my daddio on his birthday. Nothing is inconsequential, and it doesn't have to hurt.

Happy birthday, daddio.