bram ... the now

2009-01-26T17:46:00.001-08:00

Once in every life, Someone comes along
And you came to me; It was almost like a song
You were in my arms, Right where you belong
And we were so in love It was almost like a song
January through December We had such a perfect year
Then the flame became a dying ember; All at once you weren't here
Now my broken heart Cries for you each night
And It's almost like a song But it’s much too sad to write
It's too sad to write

2009-01-08T13:05:00.001-08:00

08 January 2008
Must it be?

It’s getting harder all the time to write here on Bram’s blog. I never wanted to blog; Bram tried to talk me into it, but I told him I had nothing to say. And who would want to read my blog? My life was all about taking care of Bram and my kids, and making costumes for productions at my university. Each entry would be the same: “today I made costumes and talked to Bram on the phone several times. Then we came home and I made supper. We ate, then read or played on the computer or painted. We had our nightly half hour before bed chat, and we went to bed.” Repeat ad infinitum. Or I thought it would be ad infinitum.

I was happy to let Bram be the writer, and the public face of our relationship. I was satisfied to simply support him and encourage him in all his interests. I wanted Bram to be the star, the person people wanted to be with, to like, to emulate. It would frustrate me when Bram couldn’t get the jobs he wanted—why couldn’t everybody see how special he was, what a benefit he would be to any theatre company, to any kind of company, school, organization?

I think that Bram kept my demons at bay, kept me happy and calm. And sane. He’s been gone almost three months now and I am lonely and lost and so very sad. I’m also starting to feel bitter. I am bitter that at Christmas my mother told me I should be feeling better now. I will never feel better. I need Bram. I don’t know if anyone can understand how much. I think some people don’t want to know how much we needed each other.

When we lived in South Dakota, Bram had a pancreatic cyst. It was starving him to death and he wouldn’t go to the doctor. I finally threatened him with being carried to the doctor by two large friends and we found he needed surgery or he was going to die. The surgeon was honest with me; it would be a dangerous surgery. He called it “tiger country.” We walked down to the operating room beside Bram’s gurney, me and his family. And they each said goodbye and walked away. Except his mom. She wouldn’t leave so I could say goodbye to my husband. She was claiming her right as his mother, I guess. But I am his wife. I didn’t want to upset Bram before his surgery, so I leaned down and whispered to him, “Remember you promised I get to die first.” And I kissed him on his forehead and walked away. After the surgery, we all went to his room and his mother and I were the first ones through the door. When Bram saw me, he reached his hand out to me. I took it and drew closer. He smiled at me and whispered, “I kept my promise.”

But now his promise is broken and it’s the worst broken promise ever. I’ve endured many broken promises in my life, but this one, I just can’t get over. The sheer horror of it keeps me from looking at it squarely most of the time.

I wanted him to live forever.

For the last few days, I have been crying and I can’t seem to stop. I think I have been hiding the truth from myself all this time and it’s starting to push its way through. Bram is gone and I don’t know how to live without him. Bram is gone and not only has a bright light in the world gone out forever, but all my hopes and dreams have died as well. Bram is gone and I don’t want to believe it and I can’t face it. I’ll go crazy if it’s true. He was the best man I ever knew and the best thing that ever happened to me and I would trade places with him if I could, but I would never wish this pain on Bram. Why did I not prevent this from happening? Why didn’t I know heartburn meant heart attack? Why didn’t he tell me how bad he really felt? Why can’t we have just one moment in time to do over? All this time Bram let me believe I was the boss, but I cannot function without him.

Bram is dead and I wish I were too.

thought by Bram Davidson around 12:00 AM
6 things said by the gallery

2009-01-04T22:08:00.000-08:00

22 December 2007
Bram was my husband

He was my world

He was my life, my sanity, my hope.
He was my ears. He was my voice. He was my shield against the world.
He was my comfort, my peace, my common sense.
He was every thing good and smart and creative and kind in my soul.

Bram's family doesn’t say “I love you” out loud to one another very often. They love each other very much and this is apparent to anyone who sees them together. They laugh and tease and make a lot of noise, and sometimes they pause and perhaps Aili would say to Bram, “You’re my brother.” And Bram would tell Aili, “You’re my sister.” Or Bram would say to Karen, “You’re my mum.” And she would smile back at him and say, “You’re my son.” Witnessing this, at first I was puzzled. But I soon came to realize this was their way of saying “I love you.”

Bram and I told each other “I love you” hundreds of times every day. We never parted without saying it. We never got off the phone without saying it. We said it during conversations, during meals, during moments of quiet. It was the last thing we said before going to sleep, after saying good night. It was the last thing we said to each other before the trouble started the night he died.

Bram and I didn’t give each other gifts on gift days. Whenever we saw something the other wanted, we got it for them and then couldn’t wait for the birthday, or Christmas, or Valentine’s, or anniversary, or whatever, and presented it as soon as possible. There was really no need for a special gift on gift days. But last Christmas, Bram gave me a bunch of coupons he had made. For example: This coupon entitles bearer to ‘Computer Discipline, allowing the husband to talk to the computer because it hates you.’ This coupon entitles bearer to ‘Have the husband reach high crap with the desired effect of having the item at a more attainable level.’ This coupon entitles bearer to ‘Fancy Schmancy Coffee from coffee joint of choice including a trip to town if not already there.’ The card the coupons came in (a father’s day card, because Bram loved giving inappropriate cards) said, “I love you more than I ever have before … and that’s a lot.” We could never touch each other enough, and we could never say I love you enough.

Sometimes Bram would tell me, “You’re my wife.” I knew what he meant, but I am not a Davidson by blood, so the correct response of “You’re my husband” seemed wrong to me—not mine, if you see what I mean. So Bram would say, “You’re my wife.” And I would reply, “And I adore you.” And he would say, “Yes, but do you love me?” And I would tell him, “There are no words to express how much I love you.” And he would say, “I know.”

I know I am not a beautiful woman, but Bram told me I was. He told me I was beautiful, smart, sexy. He told me I was the best costume designer and seamstress in the world. He told me I was the world’s best mom and a fantastic teacher. He told me the world wasn’t out to get me and I was worthy of being loved. He told me I was safe with him and he would never leave me. Never a very trusting type, always doubtful of my own worth, I believed every word he said. Because when Bram loved someone, they were better for it.

I loved Bram with all my heart, and I know he loved me with all of his.

Bram, you are my husband.

thought by Bram Davidson around 11:57 PM
3 things said by the gallery

2008-12-30T17:12:00.001-08:00

09 December 2007
words and hair and cigarettes

I think everyone who knew me and Bram would agree I’m not a big talker. Bram talked. And sang and bounced around, entertaining everyone. I am a listener. I like to watch everyone around me, and I love being with my friends, but I don’t always have a lot to say. Monica came into my costume shop one day when I was teaching a bunch of students how to use a sewing machine. I lectured and demonstrated for about half an hour, and set the students to working on their own. I went into my office to see what Monica needed and she greeted me with, “Geez, Mom, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk for so long!”

There were two exceptions to my shortage of words. One is if you get me drinking. I don’t drink much—I’m a real lightweight—but it doesn’t take much for me to lose my quiet. A few drinks and, as my friend Farrah puts it: “Michelle starts holding forth.” I chatter away, telling the same old stories over and over, solving the problems of the world, amusing all who can hear me with my witty words and opinions. I’m not a stumbling or slurring drunk; I’m a chatty one.

The other exception was, I talked to Bram. We were so comfortable with one another, we sometimes didn’t even have to talk; we just enjoyed being together. Other times, Bram and I talked and talked and talked. We sometimes didn’t even use complete sentences with one another; words just tumbled out pell-mell as we amused ourselves, dreaming and planning and hoping together.

I told you Bram shaved his head right after we started dating. After that, he let it grow quite long again, and then he started a pattern that continued until he died: He’d grow out his hair until it started to get in his way and then he’d cut it all off again. After a few rounds of this, Bram quit shaving his head bald because when he did, people needed to rub his head. They couldn’t seem to help themselves: If Bram was bald, everyone rubbed his head. It caused his head to break out, all those hands on his head all the time. So he just started cutting it really short. Grow it out, cut it short. Grow it out, cut it short.

The first year we were in grad school right after we got married, Bram’s sister and brother-in-law invited us out for a night of drinks and dancing. Bram’s hair was getting shaggy again; it was the end of the semester. We arrived later than planned and Aili kept telling me I had to catch up. She kept buying me beers and yelling “Drink! Drink!” I would yell it back at her, and we drank. By the end of the evening, I was pretty buzzed. I don’t think Bram realized how buzzed I was, because the only outward sign I have is chattering. But I chattered all the time to Bram, so for him—well, how to tell the difference?

When we got home from the bar, Bram decided to cut his hair again. He was shaving it with an electric razor and it was looking pretty good, but he couldn’t reach the back. So he asked me to get it for him. Sure! I took the razor and cut a swath from is neck to his cowlick. I cut a swath down to the skin. He had a bald path up the back of his head. He was watching in the mirror; we were both rather startled. Bram looked at me and asked, “Are you drunk?” “I can fix it!” I replied. “Give me the razor, baby.” He held out his hand. And then Bram went bald again. He was never mad; he thought it was funny.

He always seemed amused by my bouts of ditziness. I miss him smiling at me, and the way he’d laugh and wrinkle his nose at me. He never called me Michelle: I was always baby. And I called him baby, too. I miss his voice calling for me and I miss the sound of his breathing next to me in bed.

I mark time now by counting the number of cigarettes I’ve smoked. These add up to how many hours until I can leave school and go home and wait for a call from Bram that never comes, how many hours until I can take my next painkiller, How long until I can go to bed and try to sleep without him, how long I can toss and turn until it’s time to go back to school and start counting the hours of the day with cigarettes again. I have nothing to do, no Bram to take care of. I am waiting and still and I can hear my heart beating in my ears. Every beat echoes in my lonely soul: “no Bram. No Bram. No Bram…”

thought by Bram Davidson around 7:48 PM
4 things said by the gallery

2008-12-29T22:31:00.000-08:00

04 December 2007
That smirk ... (Long Pants)

We spent two semesters in Grand Forks, in '99-'00, I believe. We lived in a dorm-apartment-complex-deal on campus.
One night, the four of us were all playing in the kitchen. It was something we'd always done: we'd all just spontaneously start wrestling and climbing on one another (mostly it was Monica, Bram and myself all climbing on one another while mum stood aside) and having a good ol' time. It's important to know that I had no shoes on and my pants were too long; I was walking on the last 5-6 inches. Anyway, I was trying to push Bram, but I was 14 years old at this point so I may as well have been trying to rearrange Stonehenge for as much as I was moving Bram (something that didn't really change as I got older). This went on for some time, but suddenly, Bram stepped on the bottom hem of my pants, and pushed me. Not a shove, mind you. Just placed his right hand squarely on my chest and pushed. Naturally, with my pants planted firmly into the floor, the only direction I went was down. I wasn't hurt, but I was suffocating with laughter. It was one of my most memorable laughing fits.
When I looked up, Bram was standing over me, convulsing slightly with contained laughter, and that smirk on his lips. He certainly thought what he created was humorous, but he didn't seem to want to gut-laugh in my face.
A year later, in Vermillion, SD, he did it again.
I just keep seeing that stupid smirk.

Nick Wing

thought by Bram Davidson around 11:24 PM

2008-12-29T19:32:00.001-08:00

01 December 2007
Baby, will you come?

Come get me

You perhaps noticed in my last post that after I said Bram and I got together, I didn’t say, “We’ve been together ever since.” We dated off and on for about 4 years before Bram moved in with me and my kids. During that time, Bram broke up with me at least twice a year. Some of our friends may remember it being more often than that; to tell you the truth I lost count after a while. Once, Bram and I broke up for five minutes! I do know for sure that Bram usually managed to break up with me right before Chistmas and right before my birthday! I began to suspect he was just doing it to get out of buying me a present. But I never needed any presents; all I ever needed was Bram. Even when we were "broken up,' we stilled continued our late night telephone talks.

After some of the break-ups, Bram’s sister would tell me, “Don’t be sad, Michelle. He’ll be back. He loves you. You and I are going to be sisters.” She was right. Before we got married, Bram apologized for being so erratic. I told him everything was fine; I knew that he had just needed some time to grow up and decide what he wanted. During the times when we were not dating each other, we would date other people. It always made me so sad to see him with others. Well, I guess not always. Some of those girls were such obvious bad choices for him that I knew he’d be back to me in no time. I also knew if I started dating someone, Bram would get jealous and we’d be back together. Poor anybody who got between us.

Bram used to tell me often how glad he was that he had finally grown up and married me. I’ve been going through his papers lately, trying to decide what to do with them all, trying to make sense of things. I have journals and stories and poems, many of them going back to Bram’s college years. He wanted to be with me and the kids, but it scared him. He was afraid he would never make enough money to care for us. He was afraid he would never be strong enough , or sensible enough for us. He felt he was too different, too weird, to actually find a woman to put up with him and he was sure that he would never get married. He also believed he wouldn’t live past 40.

Bram finally stopped with the breakups and moved in with me about a year before we got married. I was in a pretty bad car accident and on crutches and various casts for about four months. Bram took care of me and the kids during that time and even stood up to my mother. (I knew then I was going to have to marry him.) I think the accident made him realize that it was time to stop playing around or he might lose me. Not that I ever would have left him. Bram was all I ever wanted out of life. He made the world perfect and happy and safe for me. Once we finally got together for good, we were never again very far from one another. For almost 10 years, All I ever had to do was reach out my hand and Bram was there.

I am having a very hard time trying to convince myself that Bram is actually not coming back this time. I am still waiting for him to come home. Something this terrible can’t be real. It has to be the worst bad dream ever and I wish I would wake up. I talk to Bram almost constantly now, and I beg him to come get me. I can’t believe he left without me. He died in my arms and I still can’t believe it. I beg God to end this game and I ask Bram to come get me. There is no answer. I don’t know how to live the rest of my life without Bram. I don’t want to.

Baby, please. Will you come get me?

thought by Bram Davidson around 5:59 PM
3 things said by the gallery

2008-11-27T17:27:00.001-08:00

27 November 2007
Happy Birthday, Baby

Today Bram would’ve been 34. I was 33 when we got married and he would tell me I was as old as Christ was when he died. When he died, Bram was as old as Christ was when he died. I don’t know what that means; it just used to be something Bram loved to say.

Bram was 20 when I first met him. The first time we really spoke was in a theater class. The instructor told us to choose a partner. Bram was sitting behind me and he leaned forward and asked me to be his partner. I agreed. We sat down on the floor to begin some acting exercise and Bram said, “I’ll be right back.” And he walked out of the room. He never returned. I found out later that his roommates had introduced him to vodka the night before and he and vodka were still having an argument the next day. He found me later and apologized. We had several classes together that semester, and hung out in the black box between classes. We talked a lot. Bram was fascinating and funny. I started to think maybe Bram had a crush on me. My best friend agreed and told me I should ask him out. I couldn’t. Bram was much too young for me; I was 28 and he couldn’t even get into a bar legally! Wasn’t going to happen.

Bram came over to my house one day to return a prop borrowed for a show. He called to say he was coming and I was all aflutter, changing clothes, brushing my teeth, combing my hair. But I wasn’t interested in him, I told myself. He only came in long enough to drop the item off, but before he went out the door, he bent down and kissed me. Foolish me. I told him he was too young for me and it couldn’t work.

So Bram started calling me late at night, after the kids were in bed. We’d talk for hours, staying up far too late, just talking and talking. About nothing, about everything. Then he called one night and told me he was now 21 and wanted to take me out. I said yes—but only as friends. We started going out drinking and dancing and I would go home to my house and he would go home to his, and he would call me and we would talk for the rest of the night.

In January, our theatre club went to actf. I can’t remember what city it was in, but we stayed in a fancy hotel. Bram and I ended up alone in the elevator. He leaned down and kissed me. So I took him to my hotel room, sat him down on my bed, and patiently explained to him again that I was too old for him. When we got home, he stopped calling me. A few weeks later, I heard he was dating a girl from his church. It made me sad. Then I saw them sitting in the school hall together. She had her arm around his shoulder and was talking in his ear. My heart dropped. Right out of my body. I loved him! He was mine! And I realized how foolish I had been, but it was too late. He’d moved on. Then he looked up at me. His face was so sad, so lifeless. He was unhappy and it was my fault. But I couldn’t say anything. I’d told him to move on.

A week or so later, he took me into his dad’s office at the school and told me he had broken up with the girl. He never should have been with her. He was just overreacting to me telling him no. And I leaned over and kissed him. He kissed me back. And we decided to try us and see what happened.

The next time I saw him, he had shaved off all his hair.

We got married on Friday August 13, 1999. This summer we would have been married 9 years. They were the best years of my life.

thought by Bram Davidson around 12:02 AM
4 things said by the gallery

2008-11-27T08:42:00.001-08:00

24 November 2007
Sometimes

...Bram made me crazy

I look over these entries and realize I am making Bram sound as if he was an angel walking the earth. I always felt he actually was an angel, sent here to heal me and make me strong and happy. He filled up every moment of my life and all I ever wanted to do was keep him happy and healthy. That’s not to say he didn’t make me crazy sometimes. He was a wonderful man, but not perfect. It is hard to recall any time I was truly angry at him. But he did do things that I complained to him about.

Bram stole all the blankets when we were sleeping. Then he would get too hot and push them all off his side of the bed. When I woke up freezing, I would have to crawl over him and hang off the bed to retrieve the blankets. I also had to remake the entire bed almost every day because he would twist the sheets all the wrong way and pull them off the mattress in his sleep. He said beds aren’t meant to be made anyway.

He made up words. No, what I really mean is, he made up his own definitions for words. One time he gave me a huge hug and kiss and asked, “How’s my wizened wife?” I pulled away, appalled. “What did you just call me?” He repeated the word and I asked if he knew what it meant. He said, “Wise, from a lifetime of experience.” I told him wizened means ‘old, wrinkled, shriveled.’ He said that’s not what it meant, because that’s not how he meant it. He was always using words ‘wrong,’ and when I called him on it, he’d tell me words meant what he meant them to. I think he just loved playing with words.

He didn’t finish things. He had great enthusiasm and wanted to try everything. But after starting projects, something else would capture his interest and he’d move on to that. Around my house, I have half-painted miniatures, half-sculpted figurines, a half-woven kitchen rug, a pirate ship with all the pieces ready to put together, half-written stories, half-knitted scarves, half-macrame’d wall hangings… the list goes on and on. I never resented his new projects, I just often wished he would finish them so they could be displayed, published, used…

When he got irritated, he had what Monica called his “snooty face.” His lips would purse and his brow would wrinkle. I understand no one can be happy all the time, but he’d deny he was irritated. I’d ask him what was wrong because he had his snooty face on, and he’d deny it. “I don’t scowl.” He’d scowl.

We rarely argued. When he’d do things that irritated me, I’d tell him, “You’re making me crazy.” “You’re making yourself crazy.” He’d tell me. And I couldn’t argue with that. Bram believed if you were bothered by someone else’s actions, that was ultimately your problem. You choose to be bothered, or you choose to ignore it. Bram chose to be happy.

Bram was such a calming influence on my life. He made me feel strong, and ‘wizened’ and beautiful and loved. He tried to make me see that the whole world wasn’t against me and I could choose to be happy and relaxed. He called it ‘finding your Zen.’ With him gone, I am having a hard time finding my Zen. I miss him so terribly and I don’t know how the world keeps turning when such a wonderful man is no longer with us.

thought by Bram Davidson around 11:15 PM
1 things said by the gallery

2008-11-26T21:31:00.001-08:00

22 November 2007
Happy Thanksgiving, Baby

Monica talked me into cooking Thanksgiving dinner. I haven’t cooked much since Bram left. I never was a good cook until I started cooking to make sure Bram stayed healthy. I have set fire to my kitchen twice, and then there was the the burning oil on the arm incident of 2006… I Know that I am prone to accidents in the kitchen if I am not careful. My mind keeps wandering off lately and I’m afraid to cook. I mean I find myself in a room and wonder, “Why am I here now?” “How did I get here?” I’ll be lecturing in class and realize I have no idea what I’m talking about anymore. My students are probably starting to think I’m a little bit crazy. So we’ve gone back to our pre-Bram diet: frozen , boxed, and canned food. Nick usually cooks. But today Monica felt we needed to have Thanksgiving and she helped me cook. No turkey, though. I don’t know how to make a turkey. That was Bram’s job. Before he moved in with us, we always had ham for Thanksgiving. Bram couldn’t accept that. He said Thanksgiving means turkey; even if you don’t like turkey, you must eat it today. So he always cooked the turkey.

Bram was a great cook. When he first moved in with us and experienced our diet, he started cooking meals for us. He started teaching me to cook. I think it was the first time my kids realized food doesn’t come only from boxes and cans. Back then, Bram cooked most of our meals and insisted we all sit down at the table at the same time and eat together. He made such a difference in our lives.

Later when Bram got so sick, and ended up in the hospital, I took over cooking duties. I altered recipes to be more healthy for Bram. But there were still things Bram cooked for us—his specialties—because while I became pretty decent at cooking italian, indian, mexican, and American “home-cooked” food, I never could get the hang of Asian food. Or steak. Or chili.

Bram loved steak and he cooked the bests steaks I have ever tasted. I didn’t allow him beef very often (trying to keep his cholesterol down), but we had it once or twice a month. Steak day was his day to cook. He went at it like a scientist, looking for the optimal sauce, cooking time, and heat. He would try new methods and write down everything he did as he went, so he could compare notes and improve every time. He had a special steak pan and lots of odd little ingredients for sauces and toppings to cook the steak in. As we started making more money and could afford better cuts of beef, his steaks got more and more amazing. My mouth waters just thinking about it. We had steaks in the frige for him to cook the day he died.

Bram could make a damn good stir-fry, too. I don’t think he ever had a recipe; he just made it up as he went along. His stir-fry never tasted the same way twice, but it always tasted wonderful. He taught Nick to stir-fry, too. I couldn’t learn—going in without a plan was too much for me. Bram also took regular old comfort foods like spaghetti, chili, stew, or meatloaf and put his own spin on them so they were better than before. He could take any of my recipes and make them taste better by using spices without fear. Sometimes I came up with inedible disasters in the kitchen, but Bram never did.

I still miss Bram terribly. I think I’m still waiting for him to come home. I can’t believe he’s gone. I can’t believe he left without me.

thought by Bram Davidson around 7:05 PM
2 things said by the gallery

2008-11-26T14:59:00.000-08:00

17 November 2007
Bram loved

Last night I had to kill a spider all by myself. I know it would’ve made Bram sad. I have a stupid phobia about spiders. I know it’s irrational (kinda the definition of a phobia), but they terrify me. I will abandon a room if a spider walks in. They are pretty much the only things that can make me scream like a girl. Bram thought spiders were cool. He said they were good for the environment and helped balance the ecosystem, and they killed mosquitoes. Mostly, though, he just thought they were cool.

Bram’s mom often tells the story of his pet spider. I’ve said before that Bram disliked housework. Apparently he was born with that aversion. Karen says that Bram’s bedroom was always a mess. She says one time after they moved, she was helping Bram unpack and arrange his room. She opened a box they had hauled across the state and it was full of garbage. Bram had packed and moved a box of trash! Karen says once when Bram was in high school she was having a problem with bugs in the house. She tracked down the source of the infestation—you guessed it. Bram’s room. So she cleaned it. She cleaned the daylights out of that room. When she closed the door to clean behind it, she discovered a huge spider web. She said it looked like it hadn’t been disturbed for months and the web was big, strong, and tunnel like. When she looked inside the web, there sat a fat happy spider. She promptly vacuumed that spider to death. When Bram got home, he went to his room and then came running to her and asked, “Where’s Bill?” The fat happy spider had been Bram’s pet. Apparently Bram had been catching flies and other bugs and feeding bill. That spoiled spider didn’t even have to do his own hunting.

That story gives me the creeps, but I am absolutely sure it true and not the least exaggerated. Bram knew my immense fear of spiders, but he wouldn’t let me kill them. Not that there was much danger of that. My fear is so great that I can’t get close enough to them to step on them. They might see me coming and jump on me, and then where would we be? Bram would explain patiently that spiders don’t jump and they are more afraid of me than I am of them. Which, believe me: no chance. The only way I can kill them is to spray them very thoroughly with bug spray and run away. This horrified Bram, as it is a long and agonizing death (if you stick around to watch). A death they deserve for being a spider, if you ask me, but Bram said they were noble and just doing their jobs and they can’t help that they are ugly. So Bram took care of spiders for me. As soon as he heard me yelp, he would come find me. No hesitation, no “Be there in a second, baby.” He came right away—I’ve never really been sure if it was to save me or to save the spider. But the point is, I yelped and he was there. With something to scoop the spider up in and gently deposit the creature back outside. I’ll bet once they were outside, Bram probably had a discussion with the spider about the dangers of coming into the crazy lady’s house.

I’m thinking that Bram’s treatment of spiders somehow exemplifies how Bram lived his life. No one was below Bram’s notice. No one was undeserving of Bram’s love and attention. Not even ugly spiders that terrified his wife. Bram never held a grudge and he treated everyone with respect and love. He always tried to look beyond bad behavior and try to find the reasons for it. And if he couldn’t understand why someone was behaving badly, well Bram loved them anyway. He seemed to feel that every creature on earth deserved love and understanding, respect and compassion. And I am really starting to believe, after so many people have shared with me their memories of Bram, that everyone who met Bram loved him. How could we not?

P.S. Thank you to everyone who has called and written to me about Bram’s clothes. Many of you have suggested I make quilts or other crafts out of them and give them away. I think possibly in the long run, this is the very best idea. But right now, I need them and they will stay in the closet and his dresser. Many of you have said that I should leave them there until I’m ready to move them. Thank you for understanding how hard it is to let go of his belongings. I am an anal-retentive neat freak and the day before Bram died I cleaned and washed everything in the house—even our bed sheets. Nothing in the house smells specifically of Bram. I think I would have comfort if I could smell him, but I took care of that, so I need his things here to look at.

thought by Bram Davidson around 1:29 PM
2 things said by the gallery

2008-11-16T19:42:00.000-08:00

13 November 2007
Bram had a fashion sense

...all his own.

Bram brightened the world when he was in it. Funny, though; his favorite kind of days were cloudy, threatening to rain ones. He said they were great days for taking long walks and contemplating. The endless sunshine of Reno made Bram sad. Definitely no flannel weather. Bram felt you could never have—or wear—too many flannel shirts.

The first time I ever saw Bram, he was wearing a flannel. He was really big back then—the not P.c. word is fat. If I put my arms around his waist, I couldn’t touch my fingers together. I’ll never forget my fist look at Bram. Let’s start at his feet. He was wearing brown wing tipped Doc Martins. He had on one melon-colored sock; the other was salmon. He was wearing rust shorts that ended just below his knees. He was a big guy, but he had found a T-shirt that swallowed him, like a kindergartner wearing his dad’s shirt. The t-shirt was a dark pink. Over this, he had a purple plaid vest. He had a flannel shirt tied around his waist, the tails flapping as he walked. He wore big, nerdy glasses, like Clark Kent. His hair was shoulder length and spiral permed, uncombed, messy, flapping as he walked. On top of this hair, he had on a winter hat. One of those crocheted or knitted things in the shape of a beret, with concentric circles of different colors, topped of with a big, fuzzy ball. Except the ball was unraveling and hung even with his chin, swinging back and forth. I was entranced. He was so wildly dressed and so obviously happy to be walking in the sunshine. He saw me seeing him and walked straight up to me. For the life of me, I can’t remember what he said. Bram always said odd things, things that were nonsensical, too make people smile. But he said something to me and walked away. And I thought, “I have to know this man.”
The next time I saw him, he buried his face in my hair and told me I smelled like a girl.
He had a fashion sense that was so different, so very Bram…
He loved vests. I made them for him all the time. He wanted to have enough vests to wear a different one every day of the year. One Christmas I made him a maroon jacquard vest. It was shot through with black and gold. Very fancy, very formal. That same Christmas, the kids bought him a bright lime green dress shirt to wear to work. He was a manager in a book store. He wore the maroon vest and the lime shirt together. Sounds horrible, I know. But it wasn’t. Bram made it look great. He could just pull off the wildest color schemes. Because he was Bram.
I made him a bright pink Chinese print vest. It had little light blue flowers on it and he wore it with a bright blue shirt—shirt untucked, of course. He wore this pink vest to work as often as he could because one of his coworkers told him that men shouldn’t wear pink. He did it to tease her. And because he could wear bright pink and look just fine.

I have a closet full of Bram’s clothes: flannels, vests, brightly colored dress shirts. His latest mania was hoodies. I can’t bear to pack them away in a box. I can’t bear the thought of someone else wearing them. Somebody else might try to make these clothes match. Bram’s clothes deserve better.

thought by Bram Davidson around 10:53 PM
3 things said by the gallery

2008-11-14T21:18:00.001-08:00

09 November 2007
Sometimes, Bram did things…

sometimes

I can’t stop waiting for Bram to come home. I walk
into a room and he’s not there, and I think to myself,
“I wonder what’s keeping him? He should be home by
now.” When I walk out of my office at the end of the
day, I think, “Finally! I get to go home and be with
Bram!” And then I remember, and my heart feels like
it’s going to burst and fall out of my chest. I can’t
make myself believe it’s real. I look for him
everywhere I go. He was my world.

Bram did interesting things. It was an adventure living
with him. Everyday was a new experience. Everyday he
made us smile.

Bram wore a sheet as a skirt one day. I remember
sitting on the couches outside the black box theatre
at MSU, waiting for Bram to get to school. I heard
him before I saw him. He wasn’t a heavy walker, but
he had a slow, measured step, that even though I’m
going deaf, I could always identify. I stepped into
the hall to meet him and he was dressed in a sheet.
He had on a big T-shirt, and his ever-present flannel,
his boots of Armageddon, a hat on his head…and a black
sheet wrapped and pinned around his waist. I said,
“Bram, you’re wearing a sheet.” He said, in a ‘duh’
tone of voice, “I know.” I asked why and he said, “I
didn’t have any clean pants.” I made sure he had
something on under the sheet, and dropped the subject.
He wore the sheet all day. It seems like everyone in
Minot saw him that day. He went to rehearsal, he went
to his mother’s, he went to his church…it seems everyone
who knew him then has a story about that day. He never
did it again, but not because he was embarrassed.
I think he got tired of confirming that he was, indeed,
wearing a sheet.

Bram had a magic trick. Because of his diabetes, his
weight fluctuated quite a bit. I don’t think his pants
ever fit perfectly. When he had the pancreatic cyst
and was basically starving to death, he lost a hell of
a lot of weight very quickly. His waist went from like
48” to I think 32”. He wouldn’t buy new pants. He just
kept putting new holes in his belt and cinching those
pants up. You can’t imagine the bagging that was
happening—his crotch hung to his knees! Anyway, his
pants never fit right, the magic trick… He would walk
up to people and ask, “Do you wanna see a magic trick?”
Whether you said yes or no, he would make some kind of
magic motion or chant and then suck in his belly.
His pants slithered down to the floor. Ta-da!

Bram was a pirate. Sometime in the past year, Bram
decided he wanted to be a pirate. He started collecting
pirate flags and patches and other paraphernalia. He
bought pirate ship models to put together. We discussed
decorating our living room as a cabin on a pirate ship.
He read pirate books. We went to see the last “Pirates
of the Caribbean” movie five times in the theatre. He
was counting down the days until it came out on DVD.
Then he decided he needed a pirate outfit. He insisted
that I not call it a costume—it was clothing. So this
past summer, I made him a pirate outfit. I found a place
online that sells custom made pirate hats and we ordered
one. We ordered boots, too. It took me a week to make
the outfit, and he was beautiful in it. I wish I knew
how to post a picture—anyone help here? I sewed the
outfit, but Bram designed it: shirt, waistcoat,
frock coat, sash, bandana, rings, and pirate boots.
He chose all the fabric and trim. When it was done,
he wore it to work. In the middle of August. In Reno, nv.
He wore it to the grocery store, the gas station, the bank,
walked around downtown in it, and came and visited my
students in my costume shop. He looked great. He wore
the outfit again on “talk like a pirate day.” He intended
to wear it for Halloween and his birthday. Maybe for
New Years, too. He was never embarrassed. He was just fun.
He loved to live.

I wish I had the words to express what a huge personality
Bram was. His passing a left a vast hole in my life,
and I don’t believe it can ever be filled. I know
life is not fair, or just, but I don’t know how or why
to live in a world without Bram. He was my Big Baby,
the other half of my soul.

thought by Bram Davidson around 9:03 PM
3 things said by the gallery

2008-11-13T19:37:00.000-08:00

04 November 2007
Things I did...

For Bram

When Bram and I decided to get married, we didn’t waste any time. If I remember correctly, it was about 2 weeks from the time he asked me to marry him and the day we actually did it. We had to scrounge for change in our car and couch and anywhere else we could find it to buy the license and two wedding rings. My ring was from Walmart and cost us $5. During that time, some of Bram’s friends tried to talk him out of marrying me. I’m not sure what their reasons were, but I can understand that from the outside, we seemed an odd match. I was 8-1/2 years older than Bram, twice divorced with two almost-teenaged kids. Bram was gregarious, optimistic, loud, loved everyone he met and had a boisterous sense of humor. I am shy, pessimistic, quiet, distrust most people and my sense of humor is quite dry and often wicked. Bram was usually the center of attention and loved it. I shrank into the background and watched him amuse the world. What might have been hard to see was how well we meshed with one another. My weaknesses were his strengths, and vice versa. We always understood one another, often finishing each other’s sentences, or only having to say a few words for the other to understand what we were saying. I sometimes was amused when I saw other people trying to follow a conversation between Bram and me—it was almost like a secret language we had between us. When we were together, every day was magic. It felt like we had always been together and always would be. We took care of each other, and trusted each other. We only ever had one fight during our marriage and we rarely disagreed with each other. We were two sides of one very happy, shiny coin. Bram did many things for me, and I for him.

I learned to cook, and made him healthy food. Before Bram moved in with the kids and me, most of our food came out of boxes and cans. I was not a very good cook and I was not motivated to improve. But Bram was diabetic and after his first hospital scare, I determined that the food we had been eating was just plain bad. So I did research and I experimented, and I learned to cook for Bram. I made sure everything served in our house was healthy, low in cholesterol, and acceptable for a diabetic. I kept trying to convince him how good onions and other vegetables were for you, but he claimed he was allergic. He loved the meals I made for him and was beginning to appreciate even the veggies.

I scratched his back. Bram could act like a big 4-year-old sometimes, and at other times he acted like a cat. He loved to touch other people and he loved to be stroked, petted, caressed, and best of all, scratched. I used to scratch his back for as long as I could until my arms and fingers got tired. In bed, in the car, in the stores, wherever we were. Like a cat, Bram would lean into my scratching hand and twist and turn his back so I wouldn’t miss a spot.

I washed him in the shower. Bram was one of those guys who theorized that if he washed his hair with shampoo and let the shampoo run all down his body while he was rinsing, he was clean. And I admit he never seemed to smell bad. But diabetics are prone to infections and sores, and I was determined to keep him healthy. So I let him wash his hair—I couldn’t reach his head, anyway—and then I lathered up the soap and gave him a good cleanin’. Like he did with the back scratching, Bram would lean into it and milk it for all it was worth. I even washed between his toes, which made him squirm because he was ticklish.

I rubbed lotion on his feet. The diabetes. The diabetes worried me so much. Because of the diabetes, Bram had poor circulation in his feet. His skin on his feet would get rough and hard and we worried about the skin cracking and getting infected and him losing a foot—his left one, always—because of the damn diabetes. Also, because of the poor circulation, his feet hurt often. So I would rub lotion into his poor, dry feet. He would squirm and laugh—ticklish feet, remember? But I would rub lotion into his feet until they were soft and moist and safe. We laughed a lot while it was being done.

I kept his house clean and his clothes washed. Bram hated housework; he hated cleaning. When we first started dating in college, he took me into his room in the apartment he shared with Joe for some “private time,” and I didn’t know whether to be disgusted or amused. He slept on a single mattress laid directly on the floor. There was so much garbage and junk on the floor, that it was all even with the mattress! I remember a lot of old papers, pop bottles, clothes…6 inches of garbage covering the floor in his room. He said it preserved the carpet. I thought it was a recipe for illness. After we moved in together, I did all the housecleaning and I washed, folded, and put away our clothes. I don’t consider myself to be a very ‘domestic’ kind of woman, but I enjoyed taking care of Bram, and keeping him and his surroundings clean was one of the ways I did it.

I rubbed his head when he couldn’t sleep. Sometimes Bram had nights when he couldn’t get to sleep. I used to tease him that he was over stimulated. He was so full of energy all the time, and sometimes he couldn’t calm down and go to sleep. So I would rub his head. I would rub his whole head: his forehead, behind his ears, down his neck…I would gently pull his hair and rub it in all directions and I would scratch his scalp. We didn’t talk much while I did this—the point was to relax him and get him to sleep. He would hold my free hand and kiss it every once in a while, and we would tell each other we loved us. Remember I said he was like a cat sometimes? Rub his head long enough, and he would fall asleep.

I let him be quiet and still with me. Bram was so rambunctious and talkative and amusing most of the time. But sometimes he just needed quiet. When he would get still and quiet, I would ask him if everything was ok and he would tell me he loved us and he wanted to just be. So we would. We would just be. Sometimes this involved cuddling on the couch or in our bed. Sometimes it meant going out for coffee and reading books or writing poetry or stories. Sometimes we would just take a walk and not say anything at all. I’m glad he felt safe and comfortable with me, enough to just be.

Bram was my world. He was the sweetest, most amazing man I ever knew. I will always love him. He will always be in my heart.

thought by Bram Davidson around 6:44 PM
4 things said by the gallery

2008-11-10T20:48:00.000-08:00

31 October 2007
things Bram did

...for me

Today as I left work, I got a tight, excited feeling in my stomach and I thought, “I’m so excited to go home and spend time with Bram!”

Bram drove me everywhere. I haven’t driven a car for any real distance really since we got married. I have anxiety attacks when I drive in heavy traffic, so Bram did all the driving. He told me he loved to drive and it was ok that I don’t. One night I drove the mile down the road to the convenience store all by myself, and Monica told me Bram was all nervous and fidgety until I got back.
Bram squished my feet. I have a chronic pain syndrome and my feet always hurt. Always. Some days worse than others. When the pain got really bad, Bram would take my feet in his hands and squeeze them really hard, but somehow gently. We called it ‘squishing my feet.’ It made my feet feel better for a while. He often did it without even asking if my feet, hurt, like it was a nervous habit or something.
Bram woke me up from nightmares before they even got started. I have recurring nightmares that some faceless dude is chasing me and there is no escape. I usually wake up screaming. The first time Bram experienced this, it freaked him out pretty good. But he quickly figured out the sounds of a bad dream and always woke me up before they really got started. He would wake up to wake me up!
Bram made sure all the conditioner was out of my hair and off my back. My hair is really long (all the way down to my butt—I’m about 2 inches away from sitting on it), and it can be hard to get all the conditioner out—especially on days when my pain is bad. Bram rinsed my hair for me and then lifted it and made sure the conditioner was off my back, too, so I wouldn’t itch all day.
Bram rubbed lotion on my feet. We’ve already discussed my stupid feet. On days my feet were only moderately painful, Bram would massage them with lotion, hoping to reward them and keep them happy longer.
Bram taught me how to deal with angry people. He always said you can’t solve anything when everyone is excited and yelling. He said if someone starts yelling at you, you should not respond. You should look them in the eye so they know you are listening and let them yell it out. He said they would eventually wind down and when that happened, you could (hopefully) have a sensible conversation and solve the problem.
Bram taught our kids how to drive—both at the same time! Imagine my anxiety at being in the car with a newbie driver! But Bram stayed calm and sweet and my kids are great drivers now—no accidents and few speeding tickets (they are young and in a hurry!)
Bram taught me how to control my own temper. Whenever I would lose my temper and start ranting, Bram would ask me, “What are you really angry about?” At first, this would just piss me off, but he really wanted an answer, so I would have to calm down and figure out what the problem really was. He taught me most things aren’t worth freaking out about, and if you remain calm and rational, you can solve the problem better and faster—or perhaps find there is no solution, so you’d best move on.
Bram made my computer behave. My computer hates me and Bram knew that was the truth, so he ‘computer whispered’ whenever my computer acted up—which is often. And he never suggested perhaps the computer wasn’t sentient and maybe I was doing something wrong.
Bram took care of me and I let him. He was the only person I felt safe enough with that I could let myself relax and let someone else be tough for a change.
Bram took my pain with him when he left. Since he’s been gone, I haven’t been in physical pain. My heart hurts dreadfully all the time, though. I love you, baby.

thought by Bram Davidson around 9:07 PM
2 things said by the gallery

2008-10-14T22:11:00.001-07:00

26 October 2007
hold on, hold on to yourself...

...this is gonna hurt like hell

Bram is gone.
He passed away in the early morning hours of October 15, 2007.
He loved the early morning hours. When we were dating, he would keep me out all night, until I begged him to let me sleep. He never seemed to get tired.

I am not the writer that Bram was, though I am a better speller--but a poor typist. Anyway, part of my tribute to Bram will be to keep his blog up for awhile until we are all ready to let it go.

Many people have asked me what happened. I guess we are all so very shocked that a man with as much energy and love as Bram had has actually fallen still. I think instead of telling the story over and over, it will be easier for me if I just tell it once and let whoever needs to know visit it.

For maybe a week prior to Bram's death, he had been complaining of heartburn. I asked several times if he needed to go to the doctor and he laughed it off, saying it was heartburn from the many different beers he had been sampling. (For those not in the know, after 8 years of not drinking because of medication, Bram's doctor had found him a new medication that allowed him to drink. Bram said that when he was drinking before, he was a poor college student, drinking cheap college beers. So he was on a beer tasting journey--he even bought a small fridge to keep his beer in, since they were taking up too much room in "my" fridge. He was going to blog about the different beers.) Anyway, Bram said his next doctor's appointment was in November and he would ask about it then, and he took some Maalox.
Saturday was supposed to be shopping day for Bram and me. We always had a lunch date, and then got all our supplies for the week. Instead, this Saturday, Bram and Nick drove to California to pick up a car Nick bought. Monica and I went shopping instead. We all got home around the same time and spent our evening together. Monica and Bram even indian leg wrestled and thumb wrestled for a while.
Sunday Bram was supposed to go watch the game at his "football girlfiend's" house, but when we woke up he said that since we had missed our Saturday lunch, he and I should go to IHOP for breakfast. I think IHOP is gross, but I also think Bram is super, so he got his way. During our meal he kept telling me how beautiful I am and I kept telling him to stop. Back home, we spent the day puttering around the house, me doing my Sunday cleaning, making supper, and such, and Bram playing on his computer. I tickled him a few times and even licked his head--he hated that! He kissed my hand often. We said "I love you" to each other at least a hundred times.
When it was time for bed, Bram said he had heartburn again. I said that was crazy--we'd only had soup for dinner! We laid down a few minutes and he said he couldn't sleep because of the heartburn; he was gonna take a shower. That was around 11:30. He got out of the shower and said he was gonna sit up a while, but I should go on to sleep. As he left the room, I said "I love you" and he said "I love YOU."
At about 1, Bram woke me up and said, he had to go to the hospital; he was having a hard time breathing. I asked if he could drive or if I needed to get Nick. He said to get Nick. As I came back into the room from waking Nick, I saw that Bram, who was in his PJ's, had gotten socks and underwear out of his drawer and was going to sit on the bed to put them on. When he got to the bed, he just collapsed to the floor between the bed and the wall, with his face in the stack of pillows piled there. I shouted his name and ran over to him and pulled his face out of the pillows. His face was very red, and he wasn't breathing. I hit him once very hard in the chest and told him to breath. He opened his eyes and gasped, but when I looked in his eyes, I didn't see him there. I tried to pull him up to a standing position, but of course, he was much bigger than me, and I couldn't move him. I starting screaming for my kids and yelling at Bram to breathe, but he wouldn't. Nick called 911 and Nick and Monica and I pulled Bram out of the narrow space between the bed and the wall and Monica started giving him CPR. And suddenly the EMT's were there and took over. They tried to start his heart and tried to get him to breathe while we three crouched in the corner and watched. They finally took us out of the room and told us that they had done everything they could, but he was gone. It was most likely a heart attack, and Bram was probably gone when he hit the floor. The heartburn was most likely a series of small heart attacks. I knew Bram was gone when he gasped and I saw his eyes.
My life has ended. I am alive, but Bram was indeed my better half. He was the best person I have ever known.

thought by Bram Davidson around 4:26 PM
9 things said by the gallery

2008-10-01T19:57:00.002-07:00

08 March 2007

brighter days

ok ... friday (that would be the 2nd of march of 2007) i received a call from a local casino offering me a job working in the theater. i am so ecstatic that i cannot really think of what to say about it.

giddy.

i will finally be getting paid to do what i went to so much school for (ended w/ preposition to bring my writing down to the common man).

excited.

the only thing that is bad about it is that i will not be seeing the missus as much as my hours will be mostly from 3:30pm to midnightish. oh well ... we still have paris (never really been there but i do like johnny depp and he lives there).

the missus is fine and has minimal scarring from the hot oil fiasco of 2006.

thought by Bram Davidson around 8:44 AM

2008-10-01T19:57:00.001-07:00

29 January 2007

first new post

so ... i am here ... time for a recap.

last year, around in may, i had an interview at the university of reno-nevada for a tech director possition in the theater. i didn't get it and was filled with a severe case of the "down-in-the-dumps." i worked at the software company for another month.it was at this time that i wrote the last entry ... i quit.

i looked around reno for 1.5 months hoping to land a theater gig somewhere ... there are casino shows here ... you would think i could find something. denied. i got close with one of the casinos (would have been sweet as the second show of the evening has a bit of topless singing). denied. tried to find any sort of contact in the other casinos. denied.

started to get hungry.

applied for a job at barnes and noble as i had worked for a couple years at a b.dalton in the past. worked it for roughly six weeks until i could no longer deal with the stupid hours required in retail.

so ... i am back here at the software company ... working.

thought by Bram Davidson around 9:54 AM

2008-10-01T19:56:00.001-07:00

07 July 2006

last day

i know it has been too long since i visited ... i am a stranger to my life (so camus - accept i don't plan on shooting anyone "just because"). i have felt out of sorts but it is not something i need to get into right now.

ok ... it's the last day that i will be working at my job ... it's kinda scary but it is something i know i have to do. I need to be in a theater setting ...

don't know where i am going from here...

thought by Bram Davidson around 8:23 AM

2008-09-30T19:03:00.004-07:00

30 March 2006

everything's alright. yes. everything's fine

I awoke this morning to a horrible pain in my left calf muscle. That sucked. My alarm went off at the usual time. That was ok. I turned off the alarm and kitty made her cute little noise meaning that she was not done cuddling so I thought I could give her another minute. That was ok. I overslept. That sucked. I drove into work, hitting some slow areas because, as I have mentioned before, reno people do not know how to drive. That sucked. There was a cloud of brown-grey over the city and it made me depressed at the crap we put in the air. That sucked. The bossman will not be in today for the first two point five hours. That was ok. I read some blogs. That was ok. Co-worker made me laugh. That was ok. I am looking forward to the morning sandwich. That will be ok.

things are looking up.

thought by Bram Davidson around 8:38 AM

2008-09-30T19:03:00.003-07:00

24 March 2006

update

It’s been a slow week but a fast week. That sounds dumb … forget I mentioned it. I am still assuming the position of … no.

this is weird … I know I had things to say, mostly because I have not said anything for a while. Crap … I am having a blogfart. I’ll try later.

thought by Bram Davidson around 3:17 PM

2008-09-30T19:03:00.001-07:00

19 March 2006

daunting ...

I was just reminded of something because my brain remembered it.

so, as i have said in the past, i work in sales. i was speaking to someone ... the kind of person we like to refer to in the business world as a 'new call.' i thought that everything was going well ... ergo, i got the correct information, decided to send the right information, made an effort to sound interested. i thought it was a job well done.

the bossman decided to talk to me about the call since the sales director decided to leave and, i guess, i learned some bad habits (different story for never). bossman said everything was fine except for one thing ... i should not use the word daunting while talking with prospects. it is not that it is vulgar or offensive in nature ... i was informed that 'daunting' is not at a tenth grade level.

i could go on but it would not change anything and it would only make me even more frustrated. i am disgusted

thought by Bram Davidson around 8:48 PM

2008-09-30T19:02:00.003-07:00

15 March 2006

... i told you

beware

the ides of march.

thought by Bram Davidson around 12:02 AM

2008-09-30T19:02:00.001-07:00

14 March 2006

seriously ...

beware

... beware

beware

thought by Bram Davidson around 8:07 AM

2008-09-30T18:59:00.001-07:00

08 March 2006

in the eve ...

so i thought i ought to add a new picture of me in case some needed more of me. as you can see, my hair is getting rather large and unmanagable. i am not daunted by this as i have more pressing matters at hand ... aka: i keep hitting 'n' instead of 'm' and have to continually correct this mistake.

the boychild is playing a computer game ... the girlchild is out at a comedy club with a man i never knew ... the missus is watching law & order surrounded by the animals ...

i wait for friday.

thought by Bram Davidson around 10:30 PM
7 things said by the gallery

2008-09-30T18:57:00.001-07:00

... and now he's gone

Within the last half hour, the sales director said his final good-byes. He took his wife with him … she worked in the finance department. It feels as if it is the last day of school. The sales director packed up his things and put them in his car to go off on summer vacation.

it’s not summer … I have to stay in school.

it got me thinking how quickly people can make close friends. Even though I never went out on the town with him or visited him at his home and played with the one-eyed cat, I felt that I had built a good bond with my mentor. I don’t want to get pseudo-philosophical/psychological … I just wanted to mention that …

Nevermind, I got nothin’

thought by Bram Davidson around 2:33 PM

2008-09-30T18:51:00.000-07:00

03 March 2006

missus ... the update

the missus went to the doctor today to make sure i was doing her arm proper justice with my cleaning. as you can see, i am doing a fine job and her arm is healing just fine. she does not have to keep it wrapped during the day so i believe that is a good sign.

meanwhile ... i had too many of these things during work and now my toots smell quite offensive and sweet. i am not trying to be disgusting ... i am merely putting that out there as a public health advisory.

now, the missus is chilling out infront of the television listening to the witty dialogue of gilmore girls and letting the dog warm her hip.

i am going to have some cheese soup while the missus goes on about wanting a salad spinner.

thought by Bram Davidson around 5:17 PM

2008-09-30T18:04:00.000-07:00

02 March 2006

my boots

These are my boots. I prefer boots. I do not like sneakers because I think they make my feet look funny.

one thing about boots that I have come to discover, they do not lend themselves very well to exercise. They are looked down upon in the gym and tend to get in the way of yoga. Thus, I have a soft exterior

do not let this fool you … on the inside, I am as fierce as a cornered mouse in a cathouse. As a sheep on shearing day. As a wedge of limburger.

be warned.

thought by Bram Davidson around 1:10 AM

2008-09-30T18:03:00.000-07:00

01 March 2006

the sales director

So, I spend many of my days at work … it is a software company that sells its product to trash haulers. I am in sales which makes me a salesman. I have yet to make a sale of our major product which makes me a poor salesman. This makes me sad as I had told the missus that I would buy her a bed after I got my first commission. She believes me and I have yet to deliver … this is not the topic of discussion.

the guy who calls himself the sales director is going to be leaving the office soon. I guess this makes me prematurely work-lonely as I know he will soon be gone. That is all I really have to say about this as I do not want to get too sensitive.

I had more to say about being worthless than I did about the sales director.

thought by Bram Davidson around 2:22 PM

2008-09-29T19:46:00.001-07:00

27 February 2006

and that's why ...

and that's why people wear shoes.

because, sometimes people drop scissors.
because, sometimes toes are projected at table legs.
Because, shoe salesmen need to feed families.

thought by Bram Davidson around 2:08 PM

2008-09-29T19:45:00.003-07:00

23 February 2006

talking of gross

The missus and her arm are fine. Actually, I believe her nerves are finally starting to wake up. she has started taking the pain pills at regular intervals now. stupid burning mistress known as oil ... horrible to naked flesh ... so good when combined with breaded cheese.

raise of hands ... who wants to see pictures?

those who raised hands should donate $1 to help in kari's plight to knock her tooth out with a hammer.

thought by Bram Davidson around 3:06 PM

2008-09-29T19:45:00.001-07:00

21 February 2006

... and then it got bad

So … after the lovely evening of soaking and watching law & order, we called the boychild (this is the son of the missus and has come to be close to me … ergo, I dig him) to pick us up. He did. On the way home, we discovered a sound coming from the car that sounded much like the propeller of an airplane. The boychild and I discussed it for a while and then he disclosed to me that he had hit the curb the previous night. Not one to become angry, I let him tell the story. It concerned the boychild and ice and a spinout infront of him. I figured the curb was a better option than the loss of life. Boychild = good.

later that night, we are talking about Sunday, I had just sat down to do our taxes and the missus was preparing to cook us some lovely indian curry and potatoes. I had just downloaded the form from the internet when I heard a yelp come from the kitchen followed closely by the sound of running water. I called out to the missus and received no response. She had burned her arm quite badly with oil.

That’s all I want to say about that as it makes me sad … she will be ok and should not have much scarring, if any.

recap:

beautiful evening with warm water.
Car possibly with alignment issues.
Missus with injury.

At least, while staying with the missus yesterday, I got to see the entire series of project runway. Man, santino has to go somewhere and let serious designers do what they do.

thought by Bram Davidson around 12:30 PM

2008-09-29T19:44:00.001-07:00

20 February 2006

at first it was good ...

The bossman at my work got a room for the missus and i to use for the night at the local nugget. the bossman did not do this "just 'cause," it is because we are having a user conference for our clients and the bossman wants everyone to know what the rooms are like so we know what the clients are talikng about when they mention the rooms. looking back on it, i should have broken that last sentence down. the bossman also let us get a meal and rent a movie on that pay-per-view. as the missus is a law & order junkie, we skipped the ppv and opted for the usa channel where characters are welcome. after checking in, we went to the main casino area and found a place to eat ... each meal costing more than we usually spend for the family ... but we had to eat it ... bosses orders. After we were done, i felt full ... kinda guilty and full ... i thought, "this is what it must feel like to be a capitalist with all the perks. i could get used to this." enough of food.

after we had eaten, we went back upstairs to spend some time together without the youngens. we spent three hours watching l&o ... in a jacuzzi. it was my first time in one of those crazy, bubbly, jetty baths and I am glad i had the oportunity to share it with the missus and vincent and mariska. altogether, it was a fine way to spend a saturday.

thought by Bram Davidson around 12:46 AM

2008-09-29T19:43:00.000-07:00

16 February 2006

morning drive

this morning, the drive to work was much better. being that i live on a mountain, i get to drive on that mountain. this morning the mountain gave me a little sumpin-sumpin.

i was driving south on hwy 395 ... the same road from yesterday ... and there were cars infront of me. as i scanned the sky and mountain-lined horizon (i don't know if i will ever get tired of that) i saw a thin line of cloud. as i got closer, i realized how close to the ground the cloud was. three cars ahead of me was an suv. as it drove onder the cloud, the air displacement of the vehicle correspondently pushed the cloud around.

it really makes you realize how high you are when you see a car mess with a cloud.

thought by Bram Davidson around 4:40 PM

2008-09-29T19:41:00.000-07:00

15 February 2006

the missus

this is the missus. i think she is dreamy ... and she puts up with my crap.

i would probably be dead if it were not for her.

thought by Bram Davidson around 10:49 PM

2008-09-29T19:40:00.001-07:00

stupid snow drivers

last night, before the missus and i went to bed, we let the dog out to do her nightly business. as crystalized drops of water were hitting my head, i realized it was snowing.

this morning, the snow was still there. through my life, i have come to understand that things do not melt in the night ... as a general rule. i knew it would take a while to get to work. i just did not know it would take ... that long.

i was cruising down the four lane street on the way to the on ramp to hwy 395. i had been planning on taking a backroad to work ... through the mountainous terrain ... which can normally travel approximately 5mph faster than the hwy in times of snow, rain, or (god forbid) wind. with my eagle-like eyesight, i spotted a large truck meant for dropping sand at the head of a long line of cars in the right lane ... the lane i needed for the back road. as i had been cruising down the left lane and passing the mountain desert drivers like i was in the mach 5, i had no chance of getting into the right lane. i took the onramp leading to hwy 395. i had no sooner taken the ramp (at 25mph with thoughts of hitting at least 50mph by the time i hit merging trafic in the snow) when i had to slow down to crawling speed. *swear word*, i was going to be merging at 7mph.

honestly, do people have to lose all capacity to drive if one half of an inch of snow falls?

at this time, i have had my morning sandwich and the world seems to be better.

thought by Bram Davidson around 9:20 AM

2008-09-29T19:39:00.000-07:00

14 February 2006

cheese of love

I had the opportunity to choose between two cheeses on my morning sandwich. I had access to cheddar and swiss. Now, being slightly educated, I understood cheddar to be a city in England and swiss to be items or organisms coming from Switzerland. Being that it is Valentine's Day, I thought about passion. The Italian's are known to be quite passionate and I have heard of Greek love (Greeks coming from the rocky land of Greece). Being that Switzerland is closer to those countries than England ... I went with the swiss cheese.

Also, ham & swiss is more fun to say.

thought by Bram Davidson around 8:43 AM
0 things said by the gallery

2008-09-29T19:38:00.000-07:00

13 February 2006

toilet blue

It saddens me that the blue in the toilet at work will slowly fade throughout the day. When I arrive in the morning, it is vivid and seemingly full of life. At noon, it is faded and sad and looks like it needs a break. At day's end ...

nothing.

Do you think Bram can see us?

2008-03-31T17:42:00.000-07:00

I love you, Baby