For all the jobs I am getting hired for, I might have to change the name of my website from The Video Slab to something more like “My Book About How Mom Died”. That’s what I have mainly been working on. One can only send in so many job applications and not get hired for so many obviously natural job fits…before you just acknowledge something different is planned for you. I now live in a UNESCO City of Literature. I have an entire book to copyedit before I start hunting for literary agents. So, yeah. It seems like the writing is on the historical building’s walls…it’s time to finally finish this book. That’s what I am working on. While the HR people either add or subtract my wide ranging life on paper from their slush piles, I am perfecting this book about my time as mom’s caregiver during the hardest year of my life. It’s a pretty wild experience.
Copyediting nearly a year’s worth of journal entries, 4 years after that worst year of your life is ummm…fuck. I dunno. Different conflicting things. It’s enlightening. Refreshing. Shocking. I read what is there and I don’t understand how I survived it on an actual literal level. When 60% of caregivers for people with dementia die before the person with the illness does…I have no idea how I am still alive.
Snapshot from a portion I was just editing:
“Update 2 PM – Hospital waiting room at the UVA Radiation Clinic
We arrive at the Rad clinic just in time to see the guy walking out of his treatment who always wears his “Real Men Rock Pink”. He’s been here I think every day that we’ve been. He also wears a pink baseball hat and pink Nike’s. I say this all like we’ve been doing this for months. We already feel like veterans. This is only our 6th day in the Radiology clinic. Also…why can’t my mom be THAT guy? Fired up. Facing the facts. Embracing the suck and getting it done with flair. That’s the mom I wanted to have. That’s the role model I needed.
It’s not an exaggeration to say it feels like we’ve been at this forever already, like we’ve seen pink shirt guy 100 times by now. He’s like the seating arrangement we already take for granted in this subterranean waiting room. These places have a time bending effect. Time moves slower down here, beneath street level…in the basement of the hospital-where people get irradiated, get sicker and pray for miracles.
You hear the shusshing of the piped in air. You hear the occasional beep of someone’s phone, reminding you that somewhere out there, there are people, without cancer, sending messages, to us unfortunates, way way way down here. Nurses walk in and out, you hear the swishing of their clothing. The bored person behind the reception desk has three fingers pushing into her cheek, elbow on the desk, probably checking her Facebook.”
Besides the book? I exercise a lot. My son and I have a deal going where we go the gym Monday – Friday. I go into a local park to walk at night just about everyday. I hit up local coffee shops and diners. I hang out with both kids whenever they have decided I am not annoying them 🙂
I read history books. Just picked up a new memoir. I saw the author give a talk last night. So I will be diving into that today, in my hammock, swinging somewhere in the wooded park.
Probably my favorite thing, besides being with my children, is walking through a graveyard on the way to the park. It’s a large one. It’s got style, somehow. It says a little something more about the dignity of death in the way the land lays with the trees and site stones in agreement of some kind. Walking through it in darkness and alone always feels like a powerful metaphor.
Hey…hey Charlie. Are you afraid of death? Walking through a large cemetery at night makes one wonder. The ghosts of all those people. Are they here? What I do, is invite them to show me something. After all, they have been where I am. They have walked around and wondered about how to make a living, about how to tell their stories, about how to be a good person. All of these headstones know more about life than I do. Before I join them in the ground, I just hope I can do so knowing I did things in a good way.
The “BLACK ANGEL” from the Oakland Cemetery in Iowa City.
I am always a bit self conscious when walking into a diner. I shouldn’t be. I am always in good company. Today, strung along the street side window are three men over the age of sixty.
Two of them are wearing beanie hats. One of them has the classic baseball cap. All of them hiding their bald heads from the chill or hiding the fact that they lost that hair long ago. I rebel, and remove my gray wool beanie, setting it down pointedly on the table. I haven’t had hair on top of my head since I was 25. Unfairness in the handsome department struck me early in life.
It doesn’t work though. I still look just like them. For we are all the same. Alone, older and lonely looking. Oh…and all of us are wearing glasses in order to read the menu. Hello 53 years of age. I wasn’t planning on meeting you and being single still but here we are at the Bluebird Diner in Iowa City, Iowa. My theory is that you don’t really notice the older-lonely-beanie boys in diners early in the morning unless you are one of them. I think we are invisible to most. I don’t like belonging to anything by virtue of default. This is my least favorite label. The lonely older guy sitting in the diner at 8 AM. The romanticism of sitting alone in diners wore off for me about 13 years ago.
My favorite past is sitting across from me. They just walked in. My favorite of all time…the period of my life that brought out my best. It’s a 6-top. Four kids and all of them under the age of 5. Within minutes the three older ones have knives in their hands, they are shaking the salt shakers, there are napkins on the floor. There is squealing and laughing. The parents are calm but also taking a lot of deep breaths and looking at one another across the milieu-wan smiles. I only had two kids to their four, but it’s the best thing I ever did.
That’s why I am here in Iowa City. My two kids, now 22 years old and 26 years old somehow both decided to move to this town in the last year. Then the requests for me to follow began late last year. And after I was done saying “but why did you have to move to Iowa City of all places”, I visited them for Christmas and actually found that I liked the place. And then came the plans to move here on my part, driven by many external forces, but all of my own design.
First of all, any parent who has adult children asking them to live nearby to them, must say yes. It’s an unwritten rule of life. If you have kids that enjoy your company enough to make this request, despite your uncountable mistakes as a parent…count yourself exceedingly fortunate and make haste to their location.
Secondly, I have “lived” in 123 places in the last four years. No. That’s not an exaggeration. I made a spreadsheet. I counted them up. And for the last 11 months I have been doing nothing but volunteering for things I believed in. I have been creating more than I have at any point in my life. I created a 19 episode podcast and directed a feature length movie.To keep my costs low so that I could focus on this work I decided to do housesitting and petsitting up and down the east coast of the USA. It’s unpaid. But you get a dog or cat to watch after and a free place to stay. Usually it’s a very nice place to be and in a very choice location.
I have been, in a real sense, without a place to call home since August of 2019. I had some short stints in a rented place here or there…but for all the rest of that time I have either been taking care of my parents in their home, camping, staying with friends, at an Airbnb or doing the housesitting/petsitting thing.
I haven’t had a home to rest within, in any real sense. And by this January, during my last scheduled petsitting gig on the shores of Lake Champlain in Burlington Vermont, I realized I couldn’t do this any longer. The free wheeling sense of adventure had evaporated. I got to the point where I was daydreaming about living in one town, having one job, and just being as stable and boring as humanly possible.
And so, Iowa City made sense for a lot of reasons.
I now live in a house built in the 1850’s. The ceiling in my room appears to be 15’ tall. The windows are about 12 feet tall and they have two layers of heavy wood paneling that folds to act as a solid curtain against the light and cold if need be. You can feel the history in the exposed floorboards with every delightfully creaky weary wooded step. Steam coaxes deep grumbles from the heater in the corner. The massive front door of the house probably weighs over 100 pounds and was shipped by horse and buggy, overland from a train station in Chicago in 1853. The streets out front bear the weight of cars on red bricks and the tires make an odd but pleasing squishy grubbly sound upon them. I can walk to town within minutes. 1800’s architecture and early 1900’s edifice are everywhere. One thing I gleaned from staying in 123 different places was a made list of “things I want to have when I finally stop moving around”. Because I made a study of how people who live in one place…lived. The main thing I noted is that most places don’t really have a sense of community if they don’t have walkability. If you can’t walk to a friend’s home, to where things are happening, to where you might take a bite or get a cuppa or read a book…that community is always lacking something. So top of my list was to get a place in a town where I could walk to the town center and where the town would have something worth walking to. To my surprise, Iowa City=A+ on that grading chart.
I also made note of the absurd housing costs everywhere I went. There was not one place where the locals didn’t trot out the now tired tale “after the pandemic housing prices are through the roof! People can’t find anywhere to live here now and even if they can find it, it’s too expensive!” When I found out how little my kids were paying for rent in Iowa City I really thought it was a typo. Or if not, it meant that Iowa City must simply be a truly undesirable place to live. Nope. Turns out it’s just mysteriously affordable. And local wages somehow are not far behind the cost of living here.
To wit…my plan was to settle in a lovely small Vermont town called Warren. I was just there last week saying goodbye to that postcard village. And a friend there told me that just recently a 200 sq foot bedroom, in a home shared with others, was going for $2000 a month. As I said, a number of reasons drove me to Iowa City. At some points, while I was living rent and mortgage free for most of the last 4 years, I have felt like an economic refugee. Fleeing the high cost of housing as a single person and knowing that if I rejoined the housing fray that my earnings couldn’t possibly land me in a home that I would want to live in. When you are single, it’s just way different. Your options for comfort are exactly cut in half, unless you are wealthy…which I am most certainly not. I am not Ken Burns. I have found a place to rent that I enjoy, in a lovely historic part of town…and it’s not expensive. It’s easy.
So, here I am. Iowa City. Day 1. There aren’t words with enough letters or enough lines on a page to explain my relief at knowing that I am living here. No longer moving. No longer searching. Just finally living in one place.
Work? Honestly…who knows? Though I planned on doing a very normal, very plain kind of job…alas. I am who I am. I have applied for those jobs and been passed over or turned them down. Currently I am feeling like I’d love to do something historical about Iowa City. Maps. Visual retrospectives. Maybe see if the city wants to throw some money into something interesting that visitors might want to use or see. I want to dust off my old cameras and take some still images. Maybe get back into some architectural photography? In short…I am feeling like freelancing is what I will end up doing again. And that’s sounding okay.
What I am currently doing however is:
-ghostwriter and business contact for a book about Ukraine and the work of one frontline humanitarian aid worker from the USA. We are seeking a publisher for the book! (screenshot for the book website that is still in development phase below)
-copyediting my prescriptive self help memoir about my time as a caregiver for my mother as she died from cancer and dementia during the peak of the pandemic. Seeking the traditional publishing route for this one too.
-self publishing a poetry book drawing from my last 15 years of writing poetry.
-possibly developing a podcast based on my movie 400 Feet Down.
The Video Slab 