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April 29, 2005

The Big Picture

I just realized how many people are actually involved in maintaining the 'machine' I call my life. I think it’s time to re-read Thoreau's Walden Pond…

Posted by trevor at 09:48 PM | Comments (1)

April 28, 2005

The Blossom

I had a wonderful experience at a school the other day. I was speaking to a class of second graders about making a difference in other people’s lives. I dared the kids in the class to stand up for those who are being put down and include those who are being left out.

“Have any of you been left out or put down?” I asked.

A little girl named Rachel slowly put up her hand. Rachel was sitting on the side of the class and was all but hidden in her sweater, except for her nose and eyes.

“How did it feel?” I asked.

“It was bad,” she replied.

“Thank you for having the guts to say that,” I said. “You are a real brave person for speaking up. For that I need to give you a hug.”

I went over and hugged her. I could not believe how tiny she was.

“You don’t deserve to be treated like that,” I said. “You are one cool kid.”

I went back to the front of the class and continued speaking. As I spoke and asked the class questions, I noticed Rachel emerging from her sweater like a flower growing out of the ground. She began to sit up and later, she even raised her hand when I asked questions. It was heartwarming to see her pale little face fill with color as she blossomed right in front of me.

After the class was over the teacher told me that Rachel hardly ever asks questions and mostly hides in her sweater.

Today I received an e-mail from Rachel. It made me cry:

Dear Mr. Trevor. Thank you for making me famous. When you visited our school last week you gave me a hug and everyone wanted to be my friend. I felt really happy when they all said I was cool. It was very nice of you to care about me.

“Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.” -Leo Buscaglia

Posted by trevor at 08:25 PM | Comments (10)

April 26, 2005

Sign of Creativity

Sometimes people just fall upon hard times. It doesn’t mean that they are stupid, uneducated or psychotic. I believe the street person above (pictured with his sign) is a genius. I hope he finds his way.

I spoke to him at a traffic light.

“Hey buddy. I think your sign is brilliant,” I said, handing him a few dollars.

“Thanks man,” he said.

“Are you living on the streets?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Well, I hope you find a home soon,” I said.

“I have a home,” he replied. “I just need a house to put it in.”

Posted by trevor at 09:40 PM | Comments (6)

April 25, 2005

What I Saw

I saw more than movies this past weekend at the Newport Beach Film Festival:

I saw joy:

My young friend Tylor (who is terminally ill with cancer) and his family enjoyed what they called “the happiest times they can remember” this past weekend. For those who contributed (to what may be Tylor’s last vacation) I can only say thank you and I wish you could have been there to see the look of pride and joy on his face at the screening where he was honored.

I saw love:

Tylor’s family have such incredible love for each other. God knows how deeply they have to dig to find the strength to be so supportive and caring at a time when most people would throw up their hands and curse the universe for being so unfair.

I saw compassion:

I gave a talk to a group of special needs children at a school the day before our movies were screened. I spoke about my work and how my father’s death has impacted my writing. After the talk, I was approached by a tall, shy boy with a mop of blond hair. He sheepishly put out his hand and shook mine. “My dad died last year,” he said. “So I know how you feel.” Then he clumsily reached out and hugged me, resting his head on my shoulder for a second. “It’s going to be okay,” he said and patted me gently on the back. He smiled at me shyly and walked out of the classroom.

I saw generosity:

My brother-in-law, who is a sports agent (the movie Jerry Maguire was based on his life) took Tylor to his office and gave him a football helmet signed by one of Tylor’s favorite football players. (I was shocked when I found out that the helmet was worth thousands of dollars.)

I saw people going out of their way to be nice:

The daughter of Jim Henson (creator of the Muppets and Sesame Street) left a panel she was on to come over and meet Tylor because she had heard about how inspiring he is. She said to Tylor, “You are so awesome I wish my dad would have been alive to meet you.” She has taken over where her dad left off and is producing fabulous Muppet movies. She was surrounded by the media and still had time to pop over and say hi.

I saw appreciation:

Tylor’s mum hugged me and said, “My heart is so full of thanks I don’t know how to get it out and give it to you.”

I saw humor:

Thank you for everything you have done for me,” Tylor said when I hugged him goodbye. “By the way, “ he said, smiling. “You need to fire the person who picked out your shirt.”

Posted by trevor at 05:59 PM | Comments (4)

April 23, 2005

Blogging from the airport

Posted by trevor at 11:21 AM | Comments (3)

April 22, 2005

The Quilt

Posted by trevor at 10:22 AM | Comments (6)

April 21, 2005

The Reunion

Words cannot describe the relief I saw on this soldier’s wife’s face upon his return from Iraq. They embraced for ten minutes. They held on to each other for dear life. Neither would let go. The power of their love reached out and touched all of those who were lucky enough to walk by and experience their reunion.

Posted by trevor at 10:26 AM | Comments (4)

April 20, 2005

Where Are They Now? #4

The last few days have been pretty blue for me in terms of dealing with a friend who does not have long to live. I believe that laughter is the best medicine though and to bring a little humor into my life I thought I'd share a section from my upcoming book called "Where Are They Now?" While writing the book I traveled far and wide and to many exotic locations (inside my head) and interviewed fairytale and Mother Goose Characters that we all remember. I wanted to know what they were up to and where they are today. This is what I discovered:

GOLDILOCKS

I'd been dying to interview Goldilocks for a long time, but she was pretty hard to find. I finally traced her to a research facility in a remote part of Alaska. It came as no surprise to discover that Goldilocks was working to save a group of brown bears being threatened by urban sprawl.

TR: Goldilocks, obviously your experience with the three bears has stayed with you for a long time.

Absolutely. What I did to those bears was unforgivable.

TR: What do you mean unforgivable? You didn't hurt them or anything, did you?

No, but I invaded their habitat. I was a typical human being and for reasons I still can't justify, I entered their space and foisted my humanness upon them.

TR: Foist?

Yeah, well, they didn't ask for it.

TR: How long do you think you'll be called Goldilocks?

As long as I have this 'children's-book-yellow' hair color, that will be my name. If only they had given me a decent blond shade or even a rich brown color, you know. I mean look at this. People just don't have hair this color. It's unreal. Do you know how hard it is to observe bears with this stuff? I'm like a bright yellow beacon in the bush. The bears can see me for miles. That's why I wear this Elmer Fudd cap. Well, I wear it because of the cold too…

TR: What have you been doing since you slept in their beds and ate their por…

You know I was very adventurous when I was a kid. That's what got me into the bear mess in the first place. I think I was rebelling against the picture-perfect fairy-story genes I was born with. Nobody took me seriously. I wanted some respect, so I tended to grit myself down.

TR: Grit yourself down?

Yeah, I wanted my life to be grittier. You know, textured, like in certain film noir style movies.

TR: I'm not sure I…

Okay, you've got your Disney version of life and then you've got your Sundance movie version. I felt the need to be like a character in one of the new independent movies. I didn't want to live my whole life as a two-dimensional airbrushed airhead. I wanted to be feared and revered and pursued by the law. I had this deep-rooted desire to be a romantic fugitive like the heroine from Bonnie and Clyde. I didn't have the guts to be a robber's wife so I thought I'd try something else. It didn’t work though.

TR: How do you support yourself while doing the research?

I'm okay financially. I have royalties coming in all the time from the original Three Bears story. And I'm dating Jack from Jack in the Beanstalk. He's financially stable. You know, the golden eggs and all that.

TR: What is he up to?

You should interview him sometime. He's an extreme sportsman. That's why we get on so well. He's out snowboarding down Everest or something and I'm in Alaska. We're both really independent so it works out great.

TR: What's an extreme sportsman?

Well, he's an adrenaline junkie. That whole episode he had with the giant and the beanstalk. Nothing in his life ever came close to that excitement, so he went looking for it. He just travels the world looking for death defying things to do. He's a tough guy, but he's a sweetie. If you do interview him, don't do the Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum thing. People do it to him all the time and it really dives him nuts.

TR: The Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum thing. Okay.

Yeah, he's really sensitive about it.

TR: Where do you go from here?

Well, bears are my passion and I hope to become the Dianne Fosse of the species. I'm thinking about doing a book and a movie. Jack says I could become the Martha Stewart of wildlife…

TR: I'll look for your book and movie. Good luck and thank you for giving us a glimpse of your life.

My pleasure. Thank you.

Posted by trevor at 09:38 PM | Comments (2)

Illumination

Cancer does not stop my 14 year-old writing-partner Tylor from finding a ‘yes in every mess’.

As I mentioned before, I am dedicating the showing of my animated videos at the Newport Beach Film Festival to Tylor on Saturday

On the phone a few minutes ago I asked him if there was anything he wanted me to say during my dedication.

“Well,” he said. “Tell them my favorite saying.”

“What’s that?” I replied.

“If you see someone without a smile, give them one of yours.”

It always brightens my soul when someone like Tylor, who has every right to be downright sad and depressed, still has time to light a candle and illuminate someone else’s darkness. This terminally ill boy’s innocent and unconditional ‘love-of-life’ is surely a beacon of hope for those in need of light during gloomy times.

Posted by trevor at 10:59 AM | Comments (4)

April 19, 2005

The Silver Lining

Posted by trevor at 11:13 PM | Comments (2)

April 18, 2005

Faith in Humanity

My faith in humanity was renewed today!

As I have mentioned in past posts I am currently writing a book with a fourteen year-old boy who has cancer. He has been battling the disease for over 5 years. When I met him, and he found out that I was an author, he told me he wanted to write a book to help other kids with cancer. And that is what we are doing.

Tylor went for an MRI last week and a number of smaller tumors were discovered besides the tumors he already has in the lining of his brain. The doctors are running out of options and have told his mum to brace herself. They told her six months. The words are still echoing through my brain. (Tylor has already had over twenty tumors removed. A number of them from his brain. He has also lost one of his legs.)

His mum told me that Tylor already used up his Make-A-Wish many years ago, but has always wanted to go to California. (Terminally ill children only get one Make-A-Wish.) She said his other wish was to see me, incase he doesn’t have the chance again.

This is where my faith in humanity was renewed:

Two of my animated movies have been officially selected for screening at the Newport Beach Film festival in California on Saturday. I thought it would be great to have Tylor and his family come to California so both of his dreams can become a reality.

It was a great idea, but, with such little notice, I did not know how I would get the money to pay for six people to fly to California, stay in hotels, eat, have a rental car and enjoy, what might be, the last vacation they will probably all be able to take together.

I told my business partner Woody Englander about my idea. Without hesitation he said, “Consider it done.” Woody then approached a number of his friends and within days he and his wife Ronda (my other business partner) managed to raise the money to send Tylor and his family on holiday. Woody told me people just opened their hearts and contributed without hesitation. Thank you from the bottom of my heart Woody for giving so unconditionally. You are one extremely caring human being.

Thank you to all those who helped, especially those who could have used the money for a myriad of other things. Thanks to Kris, Monica, Kyle and my other business partner Fred Miller for helping Comical Sense facilitate the trip. I am dedicating the show on Saturday to Tylor 'The One-Legged-Maniac'. I'm going to bring him up on stage after the screening and let people know that he is my hero and an incredible inspiration to me.

(I know many of my friends, acquaintances and blog visitors are going to say, “Hey, I would have helped. No problem.” And I appreciated that very much. The time was short though and we needed to get it done before it was too late. Not to worry though, everyone will have an opportunity to contribute in the future as we are in the planning stages of starting The Comical Sense Foundation to help other kids in need. So save them pennies, because the change in your pocket will change children’s lives.)

It warms my heart to see such unselfish giving.

It reminds me of a story my late friend Michael Ciasullo told me about an orphanage that was bombed during the Vietnam War. Several people were killed and many were badly injured including a young girl.

Some medics arrived in the village and soon ascertained that the girl would die very soon unless she had a blood transfusion.

None of the medics had the same blood type, but some of the kids who survived did.

Battling a language barrier the medics attempted to explain to the survivors that the girl would die unless someone gave blood.

Nobody came forward. The medics just saw frightened, hollow-eyed people staring at the dying girl.

After a few minutes a young boy hesitantly stepped forward. Then retreated. Then stepped forward again.

Quickly the medics laid the boy down and inserted a needle into his arm. The boy said nothing. A short while later he let out a sob.

“Does it hurt?” asked the medic through an interpreter. The boy shook his head.

A few minutes later the boy sobbed again. Once more the medic asked if the needle hurt and the boy shook his head, but continued to sob softly.

The medics were worried and urged the interpreter to ask the boy what was wrong.

The interpreter soothed the boy and spoke to him while caressing his head. Suddenly the boy smiled, relaxed and let out a huge sigh of relief.

“What happened?” asked the medic.

“The boy thought he was going to die,” said the interpreter. “He thought you were going to take all his blood so the little girl could live.”

“But why would he be willing to let us take all his blood?” asked the medic.

The interpreter asked the boy the question.

“Because she is my friend,” answered the boy without hesitation.

Posted by trevor at 11:42 PM | Comments (7)

April 17, 2005

The Song Remains The Same

Isn’t it amazing how the first few bars of a song can unlock so many memories in just a split second?
As you hear the music, you are instantly yanked back in time without any warning or preparation...

Posted by trevor at 11:27 PM | Comments (6)

April 15, 2005

Jump For Your life

I made a call today that stunned me. I phoned the mother of a child who passed away from cancer a number of years ago. I wanted to speak to her about including a story about her son Sean in a book I am writing called “If You’re Going Through Hell Don’t Stop”. The book is about the inspiration and motivation I received from terminally ill children during my time as a Doctor of Mischief.

I was rather nervous about the call. I didn’t want to upset Sean’s mother by bringing up the death of her son. I believe there is nothing worse than losing a child and I didn’t want to add to her grief, even though he died six years ago.

Saying goodbye to Sean was especially difficult for me because he reminded me of my nephew Rhett. The last time I saw Sean was at a Candlelighters Childhood Cancer Foundation family meeting. Sean’s mother told us the doctors said for her to call hospice because there was nothing more they could do for Sean. He already had two bone marrow transplants and his body could not take any more chemotherapy. They gave him six months to live.

Sean’s family decided to move out of town to live with Sean’s grandparents for support during the last weeks of his life.

It was really tough saying goodbye to Sean that night because I knew I probably wouldn’t see him again. I cried all the way home in my car. I remember “The Long And Winding Road” by the Beatles was playing on my car radio.

That was almost six years ago.

I located Sean’s mother’s telephone number on the internet. I finally plucked up enough courage to call her this afternoon:

“Trevor, oh my God. How are you?” she said, warmly.

“I’m fine,” I replied. “More importantly how are you?”

“I have been meaning to call you…”

“That’s okay,” I said. “I understand.”

“Actually. I need to speak to you.”

"You do?” I replied.

“Yeah. Sean’s doing a project on South Africa and he wanted to ask you some questions...”

“Sean?”

“Yeah, it one of those geography assignments.”

Silence.

“Trevor?”

“Yeah, hello. Sorry, it’s my cell phone,” I said, making an excuse for my inability to process what she was telling me.

“I love the book you and Nancy did for kids with cancer.” She said.

“Chemo, Craziness and Comfort,” I said.

“You guys did a great job.”

“How is Sean? I asked.

“Aw, he’s wonderful. What a great kid. He’s our little miracle boy. Did you know they gave him only live six months?”

“He proved them wrong huh.” I chuckled.

“Yeah. He never gave up. Not for a second.”

Everything is okay in the end. And if it's not okay, then it's not the end

Posted by trevor at 06:31 PM | Comments (13)

April 14, 2005

Over

Sometimes...you just have to start over.

Posted by trevor at 07:08 PM | Comments (4)

The Union

Apparently the characters who live in my mind called a TCU (Trevor’s Characters Union) meeting last night. (Yes, the little bastards have a union.) They are disgruntled about the amount of time they have been allotted on my blog. They have all agreed to go on strike unless they are granted Equal Opportunity Exposure on my site.

I thought about standing up to them, but then I realized that they have free reign in my brain and could cause untold damage if provoked. (They are in control of the Imaginator in my ‘Thought Department’. By simply flipping a neuron switch, they can easily create dark characters and not-so-nice-scenarios in my cranium and who wants that?)

So, with that in mind, I present for your edification, the characters that live In Trevor’s Head, Class of ’05.

Posted by trevor at 11:36 AM | Comments (3)

April 12, 2005

Memory Matinee

I love memories that just pop back into my head after being stored without review for years and years. Sometimes it’s like watching a scratchy black and white movie featuring myself in my mind’s own movie theater.

I had a wonderful memory-matinee today:

2am. The street was empty. It had just rained. Steam rose quietly from the subway grating. Purple and green neon reflected intermittently on the wet black pavement.

I could have sworn that I heard a wailing saxophone in the distance. But that could have been inside my head. I'm a bit of a romantic.

I noticed her the minute I walked into the diner. Perhaps it's because she was the only person in there at the time. The waitress was fooling around with the short order cook in the back. I knew. I could hear them giggling.

I thought the sound of the door would make her look up. It didn't. She just sat there with her head hung.

I had two cups of coffee before she wiped her eyes with a white paper napkin. Only then did I realize she was crying.

I had plenty of time to console her. I'm a good listener. I was going to be her savior.

I stood up, ready to walk over to her.

That’s when he came rushing through the door. I was about to rescue her from the depths of her depression with a witty opener that took me about 15 minutes to compose. I think I was going to say something profound like, "Are you okay?"

Too late.

He grabbed her arm. I thought he was going to hit her. I had visions of shattered glass and broken tables. He pulled her toward himself so violently I thought he'd crack every bone in her body.

I closed my eyes.

Nothing.

I opened them again and saw him sobbing on her shoulder. She kissed his tears and stroked his hair.

She left in his arms.

I paid for her coffee.

Posted by trevor at 09:37 PM | Comments (4)

April 11, 2005

Now Is The Time

Today while spring-cleaning a closet in my studio, I found a new, un-opened, set of lovely Windsor & Newton watercolor paints. A very expensive pair of Sable hair brushes. A set of Dr. Martin’s inks. A set of Rotring pens and a nice thick block of Arches Hot Pressed paper.

What a great surprise! Just to think that some of the materials I’ve been coveting in the latest Jerry’s Artarama catalogue were actually hidden under my very nose in my studio.

Then I found a note tucked in with the supplies and my blood went cold.

The note was to my father who died six years ago. The note and the art materials were for my dad who could not get good art supplies in South Africa. My dad never asked for much, but I knew he wanted this package so badly. For some reason I never got round to mailing it to him.

I am so sorry.

"Now is the time to give me roses, not to keep them for my grave to
come. Give them to me while my heart beats, give them today while my
heart yearns for jubilee. Now is the time..."

Mzwakhe Mbuli

Posted by trevor at 08:09 PM | Comments (6)

Respect

I was flipping television channels today and came across a war movie. For some reason, I got locked into the show and watched it to the end. After the show a number of World War Two veterans described how hard the war was and what a sacrifice so many people made.

This brought to mind an experience I think about often.

I live near a middle school and I was going for an afternoon run. As I was waiting to cross a rather busy intersection near my home, I noticed an old man trying to cross the road. He was bent over and seemed to move like he was suffering fro arthritis. Each time the man would prepare to cross the street, a car came. The poor bloke was having a tough time.

I then noticed two boys, who seemed to be about fourteen years-old, standing near the man. They wore hooded sweatshirts and were carrying skateboards.

Suddenly my heart went cold because as the traffic stopped I could hear the boys yelling. They were taunting and ridiculing the old man.

“Cross the road,” I heard one yell. “We want to see a car hit you.”
“Run old man run.” Laughed the other.
“Were you in a zombie movie?”
“Yeah you look like the living dead.”
“Dude, you smell like a moth ball.”
“Take a shower man.”

I was flabbergasted. I walked toward the boys ready to give them everything I had. One kid flipped me the bird and they both bolted across the road and disappeared behind the convenience store. I tried to chase them, but stopped when I realized that there was nothing I could do if I caught them, except get myself into trouble for teaching them a lesson.

I went into the supermarket across the road and saw the old man buying groceries.

“I’m sorry about those boys out on the street,” I said.

“Pah,” he said. “I ignore it.”

“I don’t know if I could,” I said.

“Well,” he said. “I’m eighty-four years old. My skin is pretty thick.”

“That was so disrespectful,” I replied. “I just wanted to…”

“Yeah,” said the man. “They have so much to learn. I was just a few years older ‘n ‘em when I was fighting in the war.”

“Which war?” I asked.

“The second one. I was a pilot with the RAF. I was shot down during the battle of the Bulge. December 16 1944. Yep. It was a bad one. 75000 Americans were killed. I landed in a forest in the Ardennes region of eastern Belgium. I was a prisoner for a while.”

I looked at the old man and wept inside. Here was a person who risked his life so that a couple of snot-nosed teens could have the luxury of living in a free country, to ride skate boards, play video games and torment old people for sports.

I wish there was more respect for the elderly like they have in many of the Asian countries. Places where old folk are revered and adored for their wisdom and knowledge.

I wished the old man well and watched him shuffle off down the isle.

I suddenly had a thought and rushed after him

“Thank you for fighting for our freedom,” I said, patting him on the shoulder.

The old man gave me a shaky salute, turned and disappeared around the corner.

I haven’t seen him since.

Posted by trevor at 06:40 AM | Comments (5)

April 07, 2005

Storm

Storm is a beautiful black cat who visits my studio daily. I always marvel at Storm's ability to plop himself down and appear completely at ease as the world goes quietly crazy around him. He just gives a slow blink every now and then and carries on being Storm. (I know the noise in my head does not bother him.)

Storms ability to relax and be in the moment inspires me. Nothing in his being aspires to be anything other than who he is. Storm is not influenced by magazines or television. The words ‘make money’ and ‘enjoy life’ mean the same thing to him.

Nothing.

It reminds me of a story I heard about a billionaire who went fishing in the Caribbean. One afternoon he came across a fisherman reading a book in a hammock beside his boat.

“Why aren’t you fishing? Asked the billionaire.

“Well, “ said the fisherman. “I have caught enough fish for today.”

“Why don’t you catch some more?”

“What would I do with them?”

“You can make a heap of money selling fish,” said the billionaire. “There are countless restaurants that need fish. With that money you can get a motor for your boat which will allow you to go further out to catch more fish. Then you’d make even more money to buy nets. Having nets will bring you more fish and more money. With all that money, you could own a bunch of boats and start your own fishing company.”

“And then what?” asked the fisherman.

Then you could relax and enjoy life,” said the billionaire, proudly taking a puff of his cigar.

“That’s what I’m doing right now,” smiled the fisherman, returning to his book.

Posted by trevor at 05:58 PM | Comments (4)

April 06, 2005

A Snowball's Chance

Some people just amaze me. I spoke with Denise and Dean Lauck today. They are the parents of 14 year old Tylor who I am curently writing a book with. Tylor is very ill. As I've mentioned a few times before, cancer has riddled his body and left him with one leg. He now has too many tumors in the lining of his brain to remove, yet he still makes the best of every day.

After 6 years of fighting the disease Tylor's parents still find humor, happiness and hope in every single day. We talked about Tylor's prognosis today and his mom said, "Every day is a battle, but we have faith. If there's a snowballs chance, we'll take it."

Posted by trevor at 10:58 PM | Comments (4)

April 05, 2005

Can You Imagine?

I love letting my imagination run wild. When I was younger, my teachers tried to force me to contain the parameter of my thoughts. I don’t know how many times I heard the words, “Your imagination is running away with you.” What the hell was that supposed to mean?

I have news for those ‘thought Inhibitors’. My uncontrollable imagination has allowed me to write books and open doors for thousands of kids around the world. My imagination is the manuscript upon which my thrilling career is written

Some people forget that everything that has ever been invented started off as an idea in a human’s mind. (Although some animals have probably thought of some good ideas, but couldn’t explain them to anyone. I’m sure some chimps had a real good try though.)

George Bernard Shaw wrote: “Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire; and at last, you create what you will.”

Imagination is not seeing things as they are, but as they can be.

Posted by trevor at 09:34 PM | Comments (3)

Sometimes...

Posted by trevor at 09:45 AM | Comments (5)

April 04, 2005

The Art Of Conversation

Have you ever sat through a conversation like you were watching a movie? Where your mind was somewhere else and all you saw were moving mouths? Where you were there physically, but certainly not mentally. Where you said to yourself, “What am I doing here? I don’t know these people and I don’t want to know them.”

That happened to me a few days ago. I was sitting with a group of people who were doing a lot of talking and saying absolutely nothing:

“How about the University of Texas Football team?”

“Screw ‘em, I’m a Miami man.”

“Get a load of that waitress. She has such an overbite she could eat an apple through a tennis racket.”

“Miami huh? What are their chances this year?”

“Well, they have this dude…I can’t remember his name.”

“Yeah I’ve heard of him.”

“Would you get a load of that guy with the girl.”

“Which guy?”

“The one with the girl.”

“There are about ten guys with girls…”

“The skinny guy. If that dude lifted his arms he’d slip through his own a-hole.”

“How about the final four basketball?”

“Go Duke! Yeah! Alright!”

I’m looking at these guys and realizing that my 'life-clock' is ticking away, second by second, as they spew forth a plethitude of nothing.

I was there because I was with a friend who wanted me to meet his buddies. He knew I’d love ‘em. Great guys.

Uh huh.

The conversation gets more philosophical as the beer starts taking effect.

“I’m gonna get me a Harley, I swear."

“Why?”

“Because I wanna.”

“Alright.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah!”

“Gimme five.”

Slap.

“I hate my job. I mean I’m earning great money, but being in an office for eight hours a day.”

“Yeah. Me too. I’d like Hugh Hefner’s job. Sitting by the pool watching playmates.”

“Life sucks.”

It was right around the Pamela Anderson versus Carmen Electra conversation that my mind checked out. Their voices became a white-noise-wallpaper in my mind.

I started thinking about my friend Tylor who I call the one-legged maniac. A fourteen year-old boy who is fighting cancer like a Ninja Warrior. He is battling a number of tumors that have invaded his brain.

Tylor is truly a remarkable kid. I have never heard any self-pity from him. What I have heard is his desire to help others. We are desperately trying to finish a book we are writing together before he gets too sick to continue. (Which unfortunately is moving in that direction way too quickly.) (As I mentioned in a previous blog) Tylor has decided to call his book “Cancer took my leg, but it won’t take my spirit.”

Last week the doctors found three more tumors. Two in his brain and one in his spine. He is having chemotherapy, at home, administered through a bag that he carries around with him.

It breaks my heart that the chances of a miracle are pretty much non-existent. He is the sweetest kid.

I asked him the other day why this book is so important to him.

He said, “I want other kids who have cancer to know what to expect. It will help them understand what they are going through.”

I keep having to remind myself that Tylor is fourteen. His insight and compassion for other kids going through cancer treatment is incredible.

I wish I could take some of the wasted lives that many killers, drug addicts and criminals have discarded so that Tylor can live longer. He is such a great kid. He really deserves a better deal.

“How are you really doing?” I asked him on the phone the other day.

“I’m pretty scared,” he said, ernestly. “I don’t think I’m going to make it, but I’m going to give it a try.”

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…

“I’m outta here.”

“Can you drive?”

“Shoot yeah. I only had eight beers.”

“Be careful.”

“Nah. No problem. I do it all the time.”

“I can drive you guys home if….”

“Nah we’re fine.”

“Nice to meet ya Travis.”

“It’s Trevor.”

“Whatever. It was good getting to know ya.”

“Hey boys, wanna stop at Hooters for a night cap?”

“Heck yeah!”

And while Tylor tossed and turned in his fearful chemo-soaked sleep, three guys wove through the parking lot looking for their car.

Finally, I saw a set of taillights (and a night of lost moments) slowly disappear into the darkness.

Foot Note: I’m all for having a great time and shooting the breeze. It’s great to sometimes just to sit around and talk junk, but somehow, that night, the wasted breath just seemed sad to me. Mainly because the guys I met that night pretty much sit around night after night in the same bar, complaining how crappy their lives are.

(I forgot to mention that these chaps are family guys in their 40's.)

Posted by trevor at 11:01 PM | Comments (3)

April 03, 2005

The Hands Of Time

Today I had the distinct privilege of painting on a one hundred year-old canvas. It was an incredible and memorable experience. This antique canvas imparted some of the most inspiring tales and truths I have ever heard. Actually, it’s the first time a canvas has ever spoken to me. (In spirit, many canvases have whispered ideas to me, but this was different.) To tell you the truth, it’s the first time I have ever painted on a canvas that was actually alive.

The canvas was Bess Wilson (a one hundred year-old friend of our family who lives at a retirement home here in Austin) and I was painting her fingernails during a visit today. (By calling Bess a canvas, I am not inferring that Bess has rough skin, on the contrary, she is the quintessential Oil of Olay girl. You can see by the picture taken on her one-hundredth birthday.)

The way it happened was quite sweet really. Her nails were in bad shape and she needed them painted. I volunteered. Hey, painting is painting, right? I have never painted nails before, but I love to learn new painting techniques, so I painted Bess’s nails while she spoke about her life.

What an honor to hold her bony, soft, loving, fingers and paint the nails on hands that have seen one hundred years go by.

Hands that have been wrung for the death of two husbands and her only son.

Hands that held the wheel of a Model T. Ford.

Hands that begged for scraps during the depression.

Hands that bled while picking cotton in Alabama.

Hands that held an amazing new invention called a transistor radio.

Hands that held a stillborn child.

Hands that prayed during World War One, World War Two, The Korean War, Vietnam, the death of President Kennedy and the fall of the World Trade Center.

Hands that ache to be comforted by other hands.

Hands that clasped my hands today and made me appreciate how far a little love can go.

Posted by trevor at 10:43 PM | Comments (1)

April 02, 2005

I hope you have

I hope you have a safe journey home, Pope John Paul. May you rest In peace.

Posted by trevor at 03:38 PM | Comments (1)

Moments

Some of the best stories and experiences are lost forever because they are never written down. They just dissipate and dissolve into the ether, never to be appreciated again. I keep a journal because there are certain personal stories and experiences that I hope to keep alive, even after I have gone. (Many have appeared and will appear in ths blog) They are important times to cherish, share and pass on. Life is a series of these incredible moments. Moments that slip away quicker that the white lines on a high-speed highway. Most of these moments will be forgotten unless they are rounded up and lovingly preserved. Some of them are priceless treasures that once let go, will be almost imposssible to relocate in the over-stuffed, jam-packed internal filing system we call our memory.

There will always be some simple journal entries though that just make you smile and wonder what you were thinking at the time. I really enjoy going back and reading my old journals. It's amazing how much I actually forget, like the following entry dated September 12, 1986:

A dull day. Kennebunkport, Maine.

I was sitting on the deck facing the sea. It was raining. The sea looked gray and depressed. So did my writing.

I ripped the paper out of my typewriter and crumpled it up. The paper ball arced easily across the deck.

Two points.

The only time I scored all day.

I looked at the ocean. The wooden railings that jailed the sea were a brilliant white against the dark water.

I sat back in my chair.

That’s when I saw her. She was running along the beach. Long read hair flowing in the wind.

I slowly sat up and watched her as she ran. She was beautiful. I was surprised that she was alone.

Her body was perfect.

Her running motion dreamlike. So smooth and comfortable. It looked as if she was gliding along the beach.

Although she was moving quickly, she was running in slow motion,

I stood up.

She didn’t see me.

I hopped over the railings onto the sand.

I kicked off my shoes.

I wanted to run with her. She looked so relaxed. There was no tension or pressure governing her stride. I needed to share that vacuum with her.

I started running toward her.

She saw me and slowed a little.

I yelled for her to stop.

She didn’t.

I yelled again.

Nothing.

I tried to catch up with her but she was too quick for me.

I was just about to walk back to the beach-house when she acknowledged my existence.

It was classic.

She just kicked to the left and without altering her stride, moved in a long, lazy arc and ran toward me.

I jogged toward her.

We met where the water meets the sand.

I didn’t know her. She didn’t know me, but there was some strange kind of understanding.

We tumbled onto the beach, half in and half out of the water.

She waited patiently for me to remove my wet clothing.

It didn’t matter if anyone saw me naked that day. I didn’t care. Besides, she was naked and I wanted to run the way she did.

I left my clothes in a pile on the beach.

And we ran.

And ran.

I haven’t seen her since. But a neighbor who also saw her that day tells me she was probably an Irish Setter. He said her red hair was a dead giveaway. Probably a show dog.

I don’t care what kind of a dog she was. But she was good company on a bad day.

Posted by trevor at 11:57 AM | Comments (2)

April 01, 2005

Deux

I miss my dad today.

He was a wonderful artist. He was always inspired by a beautiful spring day like today.

Today he would have been busily painting the new green leaves against the azure sky.

Today he would have smiled at his work, leaned back, taken a sip of Earl Gray tea and called me over.

“We should have a show together?” he’d say, putting his arm around my waist. “Now wouldn’t that be great? A father and son exhibition.”

I think he said that every time he completed a painting.

I was young and way too interested in chasing girls to get enough material together for a show.

My dad gave away every painting he did, so he never had enough material for a show.

My father reached many of his dreams, except for his biggest. To show his work. He was a wonderful artist. Way better than I will ever be. But Jac Romain was exceptionally humble. And never wanted people to think he was bragging or blowing his own horn, so he never felt comfortable asking a gallery to host an exhibition of his art.

My dad died way too young. After some months my mother asked me to clean out his studio because she couldn’t face doing it. During my search I found a number of drawings my dad had not yet painted.

I brought them back to America with me.

Some time later while cleaning out my own studio, I came across my dad’s unfinished paintings. Without hesitation, I pulled out my watercolors and turned his pencil drawings into paintings. I signed them Jac and Trevor Romain. It was a wonderful way to be with my dad, even though he was gone.

Six months later I had a show at a gallery in Austin and I included my own paintings, some of my dad’s completed paintings and the pieces we did together. Finally, we both had our first exhibition…together. I called the show ‘Yours, Mine and Ours’.

I am so glad I was able to make my dad’s dream come true. Doing it really filled my soul with warmth and my heart with pride.

I miss my dad today.

Posted by trevor at 07:07 AM | Comments (8)