Happy Birthday

I just wanted to let you know that Emily and I treated yesterday like a holiday. We told the kids about you, and thought about you a lot.

Wish you were still here.

Rbjo

A Picture For You, Mark

A fond memory from me too, much the same as yours. Same vest, although by this point in the Mac and Jack's, the hat was off.

Home and the Kitsch That Builds It

I've had my new home here in Billings now for 20 days. Boxes are slowly opening, and their contents march to their homes on shelves and small tables. 55-degree days are punctuated by snowy ones (I hear that this weekend will be no different), and old pictures taken of and by Josh smile happily when I pluck their frames from their newsprint packing material.

I listen to Moxy Fruvous. I listen to the words. "Your mother made you cry when she told you about the womb, and how people die."

The photo of Josh at Larrabee hangs in my studio. The photo Joshua took of my wife and me stands poised on a shelf above my favorite books.

I am reminded every day now that my house is less of a home for the loss of his presence, and that the photographs are a cold, vivid loneliness in comparison to the companionship I have enjoyed all these years.

Acceptance is a bitter, bitter swill. I miss my friend.

If my memory were better

I met Josh on my first day at Hollywood Lights in Portland. I remember the stacks of Mountain Dew boxes in his office. Looking over the boxes in awe, I said, "You must love drinking fresh-brewed black tea." Josh laughed. I'll never forget the way his laugh sounded; it was happiness within happiness.

Josh was a wonderful friend. There are things I look back on knowing for certain that I'll never do them again, and there are others I hope to do frequently. An example of the former: as a thank-you for the dozens of times Josh provided me with a place to sleep in Portland (so far), I made Steak Au Poivre, hand-cut, and all the trimmings-- complete with a nice bottle of red wine-- all bought with rebates from a "Kenny van" filled to capacity with empty Mountain Dew cans. Nickels have never been tastier. An example of the latter: one of Josh's favorite places we went was Mount Rainier. We drove the entire road from north to south in one day. Whenever I think of Rainier, I think of my friend.

We talked often about the "Big Bloom", a period of time in May when the wildflowers at Hurricane Ridge on the Olympic Peninsula are particularly ablaze. When we hiked to the top of Hurricane Hill, Josh laughed heartily, took a drag from his inhaler, and ate a bagel-- the smile never left his face.

I last saw Josh in Portland last summer. I was in Portland for a TV show, and I called Josh to see what he was up to. The crew for our show had all moved away, so Josh helped out with the shoot and spent some time on camera as well. I introduced him to my daughter, who predictably took to him. Since we were covering the Brewfest, we had quite a few tokens to go around. Josh and I used them all. I am glad to remember the last day we had together was a full day running through the park and joking with one another.

That brings me to his acting. I don't think I've ever regarded another actor's talent so highly. Josh was the definition of inviting gravitas on stage.

The wound left by his departure is deep and profound for both me and my wife. I still have the urge to call him and tell him how sorry I am that this happened to him; so much so that I have forced myself to erase his name from my address book. I look at pictures from Christmas, and I realize that he was already gone when they were taken. It casts a pall on everything I have done since December, and adds an even greater pain to being so far away from every person I care about the most.

My only hope is that I can find a fraction of Josh's emotional grace to help me when all this denial goes away. I miss Josh. I miss the conversations. I miss his company in Seattle. I miss his home in Portland. I miss the magic card marathons that were bathed in cigarette smoke and whiskey where he would talk ominously about Mark's "Black Deck". I miss the impromptu trips up the gorge. More than anything, I miss his presence in my life; I'd be severely tasked to ever find a better man as long as I live.

The Ultimate Magic Hour Shot

I've only known about Josh for a week.  Everything I've written so far has read back as trivial to me.  While I try to write something more coherent, I'll post my favorite photograph Josh took.  We were on one of our many trips, and the lighting was perfect.  Josh called it his "Ultimate Magic Hour" shot.

I miss my friend horribly.