Every one of these posts start with the date. Today’s no different. And with only 365 available most years, there’s a good chance that if you’ve lived long enough, each date could have a significant memory or milestone attached to it. There’s obviously holidays and birthdays and anniversaries, but what about life-changing events you’re reminded of year after year.
I bring it up because today, 28 December, has a combination of events that I make sure to observe every year. The first notable event is that it’s my parents’ anniversary. Having it so close to Xmas has meant that for a lot of years, we were able to celebrate with them, usually commemorating with a dinner event at Berns, which usually also includes a visit to both their wine cellar and the Harry Waugh dessert room, as well.
I also note the 28th as the passing of the one and only Ian Fraser Kilmister, more commonly known as Lemmy. I can vividly remember where I was when I read that he had died in 2015. We were in Florida visiting family for the holidays, on the road, coming back from a day at the beach. Because my in-laws live close to the middle of a national forest, cell phone reception is spotty during most of our commutes. But for a brief moment, I had a signal, and I got a text from a friend about Lemmy’s death. I loaded Twitter as fast as I could, before I lost connection, and read as many Tweeted remembrances from publications, journalists, fellow musicians, and devoted fans as I could before returning to the land of the unconnected. In retrospect, I’ve always thought that Lemmy had a premonition about what 2016 was about to deliver, and got out before having to endure any of that schlock.
Lastly, today has one more designation: it’s the birth date of my friend, Scott. I’ve written about him before, most notably when I found out he had died and again once I had some distance from that initial shock and pain. His loss isn’t as all-consuming as it was back then, but goddamn if I don’t miss him intensely at some very strange and unexpected moments. He was definitely a mentor to me. And he helped make my work much better. But he was also a sage sounding board, often helping to make me better. And even as recently as today, I’ll see something or write something or hear something that I want to share with him, just to get his unique, insightful, and often funny, reply. Writing these posts have brought his loss back into focus for me because more than anyone else, I would want him to read and review them, question me on certain decisions, and, ultimately, make them so much better. I don’t just miss him as an editor, though. I miss sharing all the life I’ve lived since we worked together. I miss his takes on news events. And on our lives as dads.
One of the most painful aspects of living without him is not being able to share how much being a parent has changed me. It was a frequent topic of conversation when we worked together; he already had two kids, and Katrina and I had just started having very difficult conversations about our own family planning. Of all the people I wanted to have in my corner on those less-than-easy days as a dad, it’s Scotts voice I wish I had in my ears. But he’s gone. And sometimes, that makes me feel so alone.
So, as I sit here looking at today’s date, I am filled with so many mixed emotions. I celebrate the lives that brought me here, am grateful for a musician who fills my heart with an aggressive amount of joy, and remember the birthday of a man who was always able to give me the frank, sensible, and encouraging feedback that I constantly need in my life. I think when I sit back and think about it, every day can have meaning, either ones that already exist, or what you wake up and make of each new one.
4th of July
27 December 2022
Live to win.
Every one of these posts start with the date. Today’s no different. And with only 365 available most years, there’s a good chance that if you’ve lived long enough, each date could have a significant memory or milestone attached to it. There’s obviously holidays and birthdays and anniversaries, but what about life-changing events you’re reminded of year after year.
I bring it up because today, 28 December, has a combination of events that I make sure to observe every year. The first notable event is that it’s my parents’ anniversary. Having it so close to Xmas has meant that for a lot of years, we were able to celebrate with them, usually commemorating with a dinner event at Berns, which usually also includes a visit to both their wine cellar and the Harry Waugh dessert room, as well.
I also note the 28th as the passing of the one and only Ian Fraser Kilmister, more commonly known as Lemmy. I can vividly remember where I was when I read that he had died in 2015. We were in Florida visiting family for the holidays, on the road, coming back from a day at the beach. Because my in-laws live close to the middle of a national forest, cell phone reception is spotty during most of our commutes. But for a brief moment, I had a signal, and I got a text from a friend about Lemmy’s death. I loaded Twitter as fast as I could, before I lost connection, and read as many Tweeted remembrances from publications, journalists, fellow musicians, and devoted fans as I could before returning to the land of the unconnected. In retrospect, I’ve always thought that Lemmy had a premonition about what 2016 was about to deliver, and got out before having to endure any of that schlock.
Lastly, today has one more designation: it’s the birth date of my friend, Scott. I’ve written about him before, most notably when I found out he had died and again once I had some distance from that initial shock and pain. His loss isn’t as all-consuming as it was back then, but goddamn if I don’t miss him intensely at some very strange and unexpected moments. He was definitely a mentor to me. And he helped make my work much better. But he was also a sage sounding board, often helping to make me better. And even as recently as today, I’ll see something or write something or hear something that I want to share with him, just to get his unique, insightful, and often funny, reply. Writing these posts have brought his loss back into focus for me because more than anyone else, I would want him to read and review them, question me on certain decisions, and, ultimately, make them so much better. I don’t just miss him as an editor, though. I miss sharing all the life I’ve lived since we worked together. I miss his takes on news events. And on our lives as dads.
One of the most painful aspects of living without him is not being able to share how much being a parent has changed me. It was a frequent topic of conversation when we worked together; he already had two kids, and Katrina and I had just started having very difficult conversations about our own family planning. Of all the people I wanted to have in my corner on those less-than-easy days as a dad, it’s Scotts voice I wish I had in my ears. But he’s gone. And sometimes, that makes me feel so alone.
So, as I sit here looking at today’s date, I am filled with so many mixed emotions. I celebrate the lives that brought me here, am grateful for a musician who fills my heart with an aggressive amount of joy, and remember the birthday of a man who was always able to give me the frank, sensible, and encouraging feedback that I constantly need in my life. I think when I sit back and think about it, every day can have meaning, either ones that already exist, or what you wake up and make of each new one.
See you tomorrow?