Archive for March, 2010

Live! From Paradise! #252

Friday, March 26th, 2010

My mention in this space that Gwen the Beautiful and I are going to Washington State for an indefinite time of rest and recuperation has garnered an array of responses, pretty much running the gamut from this, from “Yvonne:”

“It was with a heavy heart that I read your column on March 5 … I have read every single column you have written…have enjoyed every single one … Please tell me that you will still be writing even if it has to be from Port Paradise. Paradise will not be the same without you and Gwen, the Beautiful and your assorted cast of characters.

“I wish you continued good health as you recover from your surgery. My husband had the same kind of surgery … in … 2006. He claims to be feeling the best he has in years …

“I have found as I have grown older, that, as much as I sometimes resist change, good things are always waiting for me when I get brave enough to forge ahead. I am sure that will be true for you and Gwen.

“Bless you, and I pray that you will continue to use the gift of writing to touch people where they truly reside-deep in their hearts.”

To this, from “Benjamin:”

“So, that’s it, then? You’ve surrendered your life to Fear just like everyone else because your body let you down. I thought you, of all people, would realize your heart attack was just another Lesson the Universe handed you. Instead, you threw it all away … and ran for ’safety.’

“I’ve read your columns since the very first one and enjoyed them … I even changed some of my behavior because of what you wrote. No more.

“I can’t tell you how disappointed I am or how much you’ve let me down. Go to your ordinary life in some ordinary town and know this was one Lesson you didn’t learn.”

Even though I’m probably the world’s biggest believer in a good laugh, at heart I am, in the words of the Coen Brothers, “a serious man,” and I’ve taken these two emails, and every message in between, very seriously indeed.

Many people might look into themselves and question their actions, as in, “Oh my God! Am I doing the right thing? Have I gotten from this experience what the Universe wanted me to?”

Others might take the opposing perspective: “Who do these people think they are, judging my response? How dare they curse or even bless me for what I do and say?”

For a few seconds there, I followed each of these paths, but ultimately I found myself on a different one altogether. We’re all different from each other, “snowflakes” as many people have said (some with great sincerity and others while being snarky as all get-out) and throughout my life more often than not I’ve been so different from most other people that I’ve felt like a member of a whole ‘nuther species.

Maybe it’s my Asperger’s.

More likely, it’s simply because I’m a writer.

In this situation, because I’m a writer I ended up examining both what I’m doing and people’s reactions to it in terms of my responsibility as a creative being, as an artist … because the one thing I know best about myself is that an artist is what I truly am.

As an artist, I have two responsibilities.

One is to my audience. Writing is all about communication, and if I don’t have an audience, or can’t establish a link with an audience, then I’ve got nothing at all. Might as well daydream my little adventures, or misadventures, and let them evaporate into the smoke of pure imagination.

My other responsibility is to myself. To be honest and true and write what I believe. Most importantly, if I’m going to write about my life, then I also have to live in terms of what I believe. This is what I’ve done and will continue to do, no matter where I reside or where my work appears.

For ole Larry B, it boils down to this: Life is a hike up a steep, treacherous mountain. As I hike, I chronicle the trip for all who want to read about it. I work hard to maintain our connection, to entertain a bit, teach a bit, and learn a bit more.

My thanks to everyone for caring about what happens to the Brodys next. It’s good for all of us when we can laugh, or cry, or grow furious together, even — maybe especially — as I fall.

Larry Brody is an author, veteran television writer and producer . He, his wife and their dogs, cats, horses and chickens live in Marion County. The other residents of the mythical town of Paradise reside in his imagination, however, and any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Originally published March 26, 2010

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Live! From Paradise! #251

Friday, March 19th, 2010

Got a call from none other than The Old Billionaire yesterday morning.

Yep, he interrupted his World Farewell Tour (as in, “It’s time to say hello-goodbye to all the places I’ve never been to before I go to my Final Destination) to wake me up with the ultimate weapon in the armory of everyone who has a child:

“Larry B, I’m very disappointed in you.”

“Huh? Wha …? That you, O.B.?”

“It’s not Sarah Palin,” the O.B. said. “Man, I leave the country and not only do you come close enough to death to shave the Good Lord’s whiskers, you hold out on me about it. And not just on me, on everybody who reads your words.”

I was still clouded by sleep, but finally, “What’re you talking about, O.B.? Where are you?” I managed to say.

“Netty and I were looking at some property in Costa Rica when the earthquake hit in Chile. Since then we’ve been in a tent in Valdivia, working with the Red Cross. Every day I wake up thinking it’s going to be my last, and every day I thank the creator in advance for letting me go out doing something better than making money.”

“Not like you to pay in advance,” I said.

“Well, you know what happens when you do that. You get cheated. So I keep on having to live and fear my end. A fear you might be able to ease if you’d come clean.”

“About what?” I said.

“You said that after your heart attack you had the big dream, the one we all want,” said the O.B. “You know, the Secret of the Universe dream. But you haven’t told us what it was, boy, and I need to know before it’s too late.”

He was right. I haven’t written about the dream. Not because I’ve been holding out but because, “Now that time has passed I don’t really think it was all that much,” I told the O.B.

“Let me be the judge,” the O.B. said. “How’s that?”

I shrugged. I knew he couldn’t see me, but I did it anyway. “I dreamed I was outside, in the middle of a ruined city…” I said.

“Uh-oh,” said the Old Billionaire.

“It looked like a bomb had hit. Or a hurricane.”

“Or an earthquake?”

“Um … maybe that too. People were standing all around, watching while I fought for my life.”

“Fought who? Out with it now!”

“A giant. He was the one who’d destroyed the city, and now he was determined to destroy me. He swung fists like bulldozers and pounded me and pounded me and pounded me. I was battered and bloody and didn’t know what to do.”

“Didn’t you hit him back?” the O.B. said.

“I wanted to, but I couldn’t. My arms weighed tons. I was sure I was going to die, and I was terrified. But you know me,” I said. “I was also curious. The giant’s face was all in shadow, and all I wanted, before the end, was to see it, to know who he was.”

The O.B. knows me indeed. He grunted.

I hurried on. “The giant bent down to pick me up and throw me to the ground one last time, and finally I could see his face. It was huge and twisted and purple and brown and black with rage, but I recognized him immediately.

“The giant who had destroyed everything around me and was about to let loose the final blow was me.”

“What happened then? When you saw him?” the Old Billionaire demanded.

“I escaped the only way I could. I woke up.”

My heart was racing. At the other end of the line, the O.B. was silent. Then:

“I’ve had that dream,” the O.B. said, “every night since we got here. Me, fighting myself. Sometimes I fight back. And sometimes I tell the other me, ‘I forgive you’ and deliberately do nothing.

“But no matter what, when I wake up the result’s the same. I’m in the middle of more suffering than I ever could imagine. Real suffering. Not a dream.

“I think your dream is ‘all that much,’ Larry B.,” the Old Billionaire continued. “You just have to be careful about the meaning. All the hell we find on earth isn’t our fault. We don’t have that much power.”

The O.B. hung up. But not until he’d passed the real Secret of the Universe on to me. “Only thing we can destroy,” he said, “is ourselves.”

Larry Brody is an author, veteran television writer and producer . He, his wife and their dogs, cats, horses and chickens live in Marion County. The other residents of the mythical town of Paradise reside in his imagination, however, and any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Originally published March 19, 2010

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Live! From Paradise! #250

Friday, March 12th, 2010

Back in high school, my Cousin Barry was my hero.

To me, Barry, a couple of years older than I, good-looking and athletic, was perfect. His perfection really impressed itself on me when he came to stay with my family for a couple of weeks.

It was during that period, when I saw and talked to my cousin everyday, that his coolness etched itself permanently into my brain.

He gave me advice on how to attract girls: “Pay attention to her if you like her!”

How to survive P.E. Class: “Keep yelling for the other players to pass the ball to you and the coach’ll think you actually know how to catch it!”

How to pass my Drivers License Test: “Parallel parking. Most people can’t do it, so the testers are suckers for anyone who can!”

Most of all, Cousin Barry made me laugh at just about everything during a period when everything usually made me cry. Who could ask for more from any relative or friend?

Over the years, Cousin Barry and I have alternated between being close and being not so close, but the closeness always wins out.

Its most recent manifestation has been in the past few weeks. Like me, Barry has had heart bypass surgery, and his words in a couple of Facebook messages are important enough to pass on to anyone who finds him or herself in the post-bypass surgery state:

“Around month four of my recovery I noticed a little depression starting to manifest itself. I was warned of that happening by a psychiatrist friend. I waited three weeks, during which I became more depressed, and called the friend for a prescription. Depression left in about a month, but it was replaced by anxiety. We upped the dosage and all was well …

“I first realized something was wrong,” Cousin Barry continued in another message, “reading the reaction of friends … to my responses to the simple question of ‘How are you?’ I saw that I was going on in great detail and in a negative manner about how I was feeling …

“[This] caused me to examine my other thoughts and come to the conclusion that something was amiss …

“That’s my story, cuz. If it fits your situation, take heed. If not, then @#$! you for being so healthy!”

I haven’t hit the four-month mark yet and honestly don’t know if I’m depressed or not. I do know that because of the physical limitations set upon me, the recovery process isn’t just part of what’s happening in Brody World right now, it’s all that’s happening, and in and of itself that doesn’t seem very healthy.

In the dark moments when I’m feeling most helpless physically, I find myself more angry than depressed. Angry at myself for getting into this situation, certainly, but also angry at the self-contradictory medical advice others (including my cousin) and I have gotten.

In the hospital before the surgery I was told, “Oh, you’ll be feeling so much better after two weeks.” After the surgery the word was “At four weeks your chest will be well-knitted and you’ll be able to use your arms more normally.”

But at four weeks I heard “You’re not going to be able to cope the way you used to until the six-week mark,” followed by “Wait till you see the big difference at eight weeks,” and, now, at eight weeks: “Well, you know your breastbone won’t be fully healed until 12 weeks after the surgery” and, “By the time a year has passed you’ll be your old self — only better.”

I’m as fond of benchmarks as the next guy. Fonder, maybe, because I’m always looking for ways to measure my progress in just about everything I do. But in this particular situation it’s not that the benchmarks are so difficult to attain, it’s that just as I think I’m about to attain one it gets snatched away.

Most of the time, though, my overall feeling is one of excitement. I’m energized by the challenge of getting better. And also by the further challenge of having to learn to be patient and become more aware of how my body feels so I can go with it instead of pushing, as I usually do. Overall, I look at this as another lesson that’ll improve my quality of life in many ways.

Meanwhile, I’ve got some final words for you, Cousin Barry. “Thanks for the lowdown, and @#$! you for being so healthy too!”

Larry Brody is an author, veteran television writer and producer . He, his wife and their dogs, cats, horses and chickens live in Marion County. The other residents of the mythical town of Paradise reside in his imagination, however, and any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Originally published March 12, 2010

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Live! From Paradise! #249

Friday, March 5th, 2010

I’ve always marveled at the fact that the most consistent thing in life is change.

The paradox is so clear that no one even blinks when it’s pointed out.

Unless, that is, the change is occurring to you … and it’s not the kind of change you were wishing for.

Here at Cloud Creek Ranch, Gwen the Beautiful and I have been going through a couple of months of change, with no end in sight. And try as I may to be ready for the new — mostly by keeping myself open to the unexpected so I can go with it — I’ve got to admit that recent, current, and future changes have me … well, how about if I protect my feelings by saying “off-balance” and let it go at that?

My health’s turn for the worse is the “recent” change I’m talking about. And Gwen and I and all the spirits at Cloud Creek (both living and not-quite-material) have been deeply affected.

My body no longer lets me do the things it used to, leading to a situation where I have to face a future without Huck the Spotless Appaloosa. A couple of weeks ago, in this very space, I put out a call for possible caretakers or even owners (as if anyone could “own” a free soul like him!) for my horse brother.

At first, it looked like Burl Jr., Blues Singer Extraordinaire, was going to take Huck to his father’s farm, but that fell through when our still-sputtering economy cost Burl Sr., longtime Paradise Farmer of the Year, control of the spread he’s owned for almost fifty years. This was accompanied by the end of Burl, Jr.’s day job, which means that he, wife Tera, and toddler son Strummer have taken off on another road trip not merely in search of musical fame and fortune but in need of it to pay the bills.

Huck’s future, however, still seems provided for. Even as I write this, the Landry family is packing up for a move from the coast of Florida to The Mountain, to ensconce itself on the property. The Landrys are even bringing their own horses with them so Huck will have plenty of company.

This future change isn’t without its dark lining. The Landrys will be taking over both the Main House and the Annex because Gwen and I won’t be here. Remember last summer, when we spent a month in Port Paradise, on the Pacific Northwest coast? We’re headed back there for an indefinite period of time, to be closer to most of our family … and snug in the bosom of Youngest Daughter Amber and her Amazing Jeremiah.

The easiest way for anyone in Paradise to envision Port Paradise is to think of the Ozarks’ Victorian haven, Eureka Springs. Add oceanfront. Stir in classic wooden sailing ships, galleries galore, nearby Seattle’s modern medical facilities, and a devotion to Credence Clearwater Revival unmatched anywhere else in the world and you’ve got the setting for my recuperation.

Accompanying Gwen and me will be Emmy the Bold, Ditsy Dixie the Golden Lab, and Decker the Giant-Hearted.

In fact, Decker’s already there. Thanks to Our Friend the Dog Trainer, a loyal reader of all I’ve written here, Decker’s natural good-nature, intelligence, and acute awareness of his surroundings have been professionally honed, turning him into a full-fledged Service Dog.

Our Friend is refining Decker’s training now, so he’ll be able to accompany us wherever we go along Puget Sound and, at the command of, “Take us home,” return us to our car or front door.

The perfect companion for a couple as “directionally challenged” as Gwen and I have found ourselves to be over the years.

Because we’ll be living in a small space with the kind of rules and requirements that normally chafe me to the bone (and, who knows, may do that still), we’re unable to take Belle the Wary, Emmy’s daughter and Decker’s litter sister, and Bob the Very Careful Cat.

As a result, Gwen and I are looking for homes for both of these loyal, lovable, and (because who would expect the Brodys to have it any other way?) slightly eccentric friends. If anyone out there, current neighbors and readers and friends of friends, wants to know more about either of these two fine furballs, I guarantee a prompt reply to any email sent to my larrybrody@cloudcreek.org address.

So, there we have it. Change.

Inevitable.

Relentless.

Tearful.

Excuse me while I blink.

Larry Brody is an author, veteran television writer and producer. He, his wife and their dogs, cats, horses and chickens live in Marion County. The other residents of the mythical town of Paradise reside in his imagination, however, and any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Originally published March 5, 2010

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