It is official.
I am sitting in a very small, very cool, very cozy cafe on the street where I am staying. You know, this is my dream. To spend my nights in the company of candles and beer and trendiness. I couldn't be happier. I've been alone almost everywhere I've been, everyday. This place is mine to discover because the vial is only over the void in my mind. This weekend will be my first in San Francisco. Needless to say, I am looking forward to it. My job is amazing. For those of you that don't know, I landed a job last Wednesday at the Pain Clinical Research Center @ UCSF.
It is kinda creepy how this worked out. Anyone who listened to my rant the last month I was in the North East knows that I specifically picked UCSF as the place I wanted to work and clinical research as my ideal mode of employment. And so it has come to pass (seriously)?
I think of my time at UVM and feelings of warmth swell inside me, as they do now. I'm hoping this is the next chapter of my life and that it is as uplifting as UVM.
"Half of the time we're gone but we don't know where, we don't know where." - Only living boy in New York, Simon and Garfunkel
All the time I know where I am now. Every moment.
I guess I can close one and open another just as good.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
An account, all to brief, of my friend.
Brothers,
It is 3:10 am in the morning here in South Lake Tahoe and I find myself awake. During the holiday season this year, the Potters--Binks, Earl, Christine, Grandpa, Chris, Jamie and Brandon--allowed me into their home in Talent, Oregon. They treated me with such warmth and hospitality. Those who've experienced this never forget it.
I am addressing everyone because I need to tell all of you my account of him. In the short time that I spend with him, December 22nd through the 28th, he had perplex me, amused me, amazed me, befriended me and extended his advice and support to me. Here is my telling of our time together, and though short, I hope it will give you all the flavor of Brandon and how noble he is. And how much he touched me. And how much I'm mourning future meetings we will never have on this earth.
Binks and I arrived at his brothers' apartment in Pacific Heights. Chris and Brandon lived together and it was immediately clear to me who, of the two, was more interested in leaving promptly for Oregon. I walked into the kitchen and there was Brandon goin' to town on a sandwich. Chris was running around, almost frantically; slamming the backdoor, locking it sharply. Brandon introduced himself and I made all the gestures of recognition that one is suppose to make when one has met someone before (apparently, at a show). But, in truth, I vaguely remembered his face. We met with warm handshakes and hellos.
I went back to the rental SUV (and may I say Binks, in retrospect, we could have used a full-size) and after a solid block of time waiting for things to get packed-up, Brandon descended tentatively on the stairs holding a full-deployed umbrella. It was raining, yes, but the 20ft walk to the car--in my mind--hardly warranted rain gear. It gets better. Brandon, had some errands to run before our departure from San Francisco. Specifically, he had to make a deposit at a Wells-Fargo ATM and pick up some shirts he had laundered. It was still raining ripe droplets of cold rain, every time Brandon exited the car(he did this 3 times cause we couldn't find an ATM with envelopes) he struggled with the umbrella for a good 30 seconds, only to walk 20ft and be under an awning. At one point, he stuffed the umbrella into the haystack that was the luggage in the back, thinking he was done with it. There were still the shirts to get (oh, yeah!) and when it came time to leave the car he could not retrieve the damned thing. So Brandon got a little wet. As a remedy, he had us drive back to the apartment so he could change his shirt. I remember wondering how anyone could be so blind to their own eccentricities. I mean, Chris, Binks and I were rolling on the floor laughing when he would struggle with that umbrella just to saved himself from getting slightly moist. However, during that car ride and the days that followed, I understood Brandon more and more. I understood how someone could be so eccentric and so deeply caring, utterly intelligent and throughly amusing.
He always said goodnight to me. He asked me about my family.
Dinners at the Potter's homestead were a treat, and that is hardly an all encompassing phrase. They were amazing. On one occasion, Brandon shared with me some of his earlier history: his travels, his time in the Army. I learned that he spoke Russian so fluently and so much like a Russian that a cab driver in San Francisco didn't believe he was American. He brought great wine to the table. Earl ("Potter" as Christine calls him) one night after being poured a half-full glass of Brandon's offering, raised it and looking his son in the eye,thanked him sincerely. That will always stay with me as an example of admiration of father for son.
Brandon charged himself with the task of recreating a dessert that the family used to have in a beloved restaurant they would frequent around the Holidays. He had made it a annual tradition: this quest to crack the recipe, and this year I got to help. He included me in the dessert's production by probing my knowledge of chemistry. After an exhaustive crash-course concerning the colligative properties of water and of ice crystal formation (for it was a frozen dessert), he set to work. It did not come out as he expected, but that was okay with the rest of us. We ate it all the same. Maybe someone, someday, will get it exactly right.
I left the Potters with hugs and kind offerings from Chris and Brandon to interrupt their lives whenever I need assistance getting set up in the city. Since then I had talked to Chris once. Things are working out for me perfectly in San Francisco, so far. I will always have a pang of regret and sorrow when I think about my beginning here. I don't know. I guess its because I pictured catching up with him and sharing my progress with him. And, mostly, cause I know how completely he is loved, and how this is affecting the Potters. You don't have a Christmas like that without wanting to repeat it or beat it somehow.
Binks, I hope you've enjoyed this small account of Brandon. I have you to thank for this...
To the rest of you. I just booked my ticket home. I'll see you all, my brothers, on the 24th of February. May I suggest that we begin to think of songs that we might sing in Brandon's memory. Perhaps the Russian song?
Love to all of you,
Matt
It is 3:10 am in the morning here in South Lake Tahoe and I find myself awake. During the holiday season this year, the Potters--Binks, Earl, Christine, Grandpa, Chris, Jamie and Brandon--allowed me into their home in Talent, Oregon. They treated me with such warmth and hospitality. Those who've experienced this never forget it.
I am addressing everyone because I need to tell all of you my account of him. In the short time that I spend with him, December 22nd through the 28th, he had perplex me, amused me, amazed me, befriended me and extended his advice and support to me. Here is my telling of our time together, and though short, I hope it will give you all the flavor of Brandon and how noble he is. And how much he touched me. And how much I'm mourning future meetings we will never have on this earth.
Binks and I arrived at his brothers' apartment in Pacific Heights. Chris and Brandon lived together and it was immediately clear to me who, of the two, was more interested in leaving promptly for Oregon. I walked into the kitchen and there was Brandon goin' to town on a sandwich. Chris was running around, almost frantically; slamming the backdoor, locking it sharply. Brandon introduced himself and I made all the gestures of recognition that one is suppose to make when one has met someone before (apparently, at a show). But, in truth, I vaguely remembered his face. We met with warm handshakes and hellos.
I went back to the rental SUV (and may I say Binks, in retrospect, we could have used a full-size) and after a solid block of time waiting for things to get packed-up, Brandon descended tentatively on the stairs holding a full-deployed umbrella. It was raining, yes, but the 20ft walk to the car--in my mind--hardly warranted rain gear. It gets better. Brandon, had some errands to run before our departure from San Francisco. Specifically, he had to make a deposit at a Wells-Fargo ATM and pick up some shirts he had laundered. It was still raining ripe droplets of cold rain, every time Brandon exited the car(he did this 3 times cause we couldn't find an ATM with envelopes) he struggled with the umbrella for a good 30 seconds, only to walk 20ft and be under an awning. At one point, he stuffed the umbrella into the haystack that was the luggage in the back, thinking he was done with it. There were still the shirts to get (oh, yeah!) and when it came time to leave the car he could not retrieve the damned thing. So Brandon got a little wet. As a remedy, he had us drive back to the apartment so he could change his shirt. I remember wondering how anyone could be so blind to their own eccentricities. I mean, Chris, Binks and I were rolling on the floor laughing when he would struggle with that umbrella just to saved himself from getting slightly moist. However, during that car ride and the days that followed, I understood Brandon more and more. I understood how someone could be so eccentric and so deeply caring, utterly intelligent and throughly amusing.
He always said goodnight to me. He asked me about my family.
Dinners at the Potter's homestead were a treat, and that is hardly an all encompassing phrase. They were amazing. On one occasion, Brandon shared with me some of his earlier history: his travels, his time in the Army. I learned that he spoke Russian so fluently and so much like a Russian that a cab driver in San Francisco didn't believe he was American. He brought great wine to the table. Earl ("Potter" as Christine calls him) one night after being poured a half-full glass of Brandon's offering, raised it and looking his son in the eye,thanked him sincerely. That will always stay with me as an example of admiration of father for son.
Brandon charged himself with the task of recreating a dessert that the family used to have in a beloved restaurant they would frequent around the Holidays. He had made it a annual tradition: this quest to crack the recipe, and this year I got to help. He included me in the dessert's production by probing my knowledge of chemistry. After an exhaustive crash-course concerning the colligative properties of water and of ice crystal formation (for it was a frozen dessert), he set to work. It did not come out as he expected, but that was okay with the rest of us. We ate it all the same. Maybe someone, someday, will get it exactly right.
I left the Potters with hugs and kind offerings from Chris and Brandon to interrupt their lives whenever I need assistance getting set up in the city. Since then I had talked to Chris once. Things are working out for me perfectly in San Francisco, so far. I will always have a pang of regret and sorrow when I think about my beginning here. I don't know. I guess its because I pictured catching up with him and sharing my progress with him. And, mostly, cause I know how completely he is loved, and how this is affecting the Potters. You don't have a Christmas like that without wanting to repeat it or beat it somehow.
Binks, I hope you've enjoyed this small account of Brandon. I have you to thank for this...
To the rest of you. I just booked my ticket home. I'll see you all, my brothers, on the 24th of February. May I suggest that we begin to think of songs that we might sing in Brandon's memory. Perhaps the Russian song?
Love to all of you,
Matt
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Brandon
the air is so thin up here.
Why can we not just stay forever: drinking wine, drinking wine?
until our souls are red... drinking wine, drinking wine.
until our voices are quenched... drinking wine, drinking wine.
Why can we not just stay forever: drinking wine, drinking wine?
until our souls are red... drinking wine, drinking wine.
until our voices are quenched... drinking wine, drinking wine.
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