Goodbye, my friend
October 30, 2026
I began a six-month online Tinnitus program when I saw how Art was laser-focused on his healing protocol. This program requires consistency: sleep, supplements, breathing practice, brain retraining, nervous system modulation, regular meals, not drinking coffee . . . I have completely lost the thread, except for supplements some mornings, and the regular video chats with my delightful, indulgent wellness coach, who lets me run wild with my stories and history.
She has become a fan of my music and creative process. She has been a wonderful friend and valuable support through this ordeal.
For those who don’t know, Art passed away three weeks ago, somewhere between 5 and 7 AM, Friday October 9. I was asleep in the van and he texted me “help now”. I woke at 7, pulled on my jeans and boots and rushed up to the house. I am sure now he was already gone, but I spent half an hour moving him back into bed, washing his beard, talking to him, holding his face . . calling e, who came out as soon as she could. Yes, he was clearly gone. And with the help of the other E, his neighbor, we washed him and dressed him, changed his sheets and rubbed oils on his feet . . .
I’m in Canyon now, in his house, with his writings, music, photographs, memorabilia and collections of a long and full life. I plan to stay–the neighbors want me to, Tom needs a caretaker, his cat needs a human. I know the house and its peculiarities, it was my second home for many years. I helped build and invest in many projects: the kitchen roof, the woodshed roof, the roofing house, the deck, the bathtub, the failed garden, the overrun orchard. The entire moving of the grocery shelves and pallet racks and their contents to make room for the deck and shower and laundry areas–I nearly fell into the well then, covered as it was with a thin, rotting sheet of plywood under the metal shelving we had removed.
When we came back from our trip to Iowa in Westy in 2014, Tom had gone up to Hayfork and found copper stolen and the well dry. He decided to stay, and by previous agreement, Art moved in. The plan was for Tom to move out first, but instead Art and I spent two years and many trips packing machinery and tools and miscellany into the van and driving the 250-some miles to Tom’s 40 acres. Once or twice we took the Tacoma for really gnarly loads. And trips to the dump, and metal recycling.
Suffice to say, I am invested here. I was away those two years, maybe we can count 3, because I barely came in 2023–that was the year I bailed on Cotati, tho my name is on the t-shirt. 2024 and 2025, certainly, in spite of a couple of trips to festivals which entailed an overnight or two in the van, and sad, grievous visits to the rat-infested studio.
I returned to help him out this March for a few days and nights, camping in my old parking spot, and again in April. Just after my birthday in May I began to spend long stretches here, cooking, cleaning, fixing electrical problems, replacing the porch ramp, picking up containers of take-out and finding forks and spoons squirreled away everywhere. I reorganized the kitchen shelves at his direction, sorted piles of papers and books and bills and hospital detritus. We made amends. We talked at length, ate together, hugged and snuggled and cried. We sat up in bed and watched movies, went shopping, I learned how to drive the Tesla. I stayed here when he ended up in the hospital overnight. Varmint and I came out to clean the kitchen and feed the cat when he went up to Santa Rosa for one last visit . . .
He had driven to the Saw Festival alone on the Sunday- He arrived at 10. I had come the night before for the potluck/campout, our set was at 11 AM. He was unable to leave the car, so I brought him coffee and food, and spent time chatting while a couple of people came out to the parking lot to visit with him, and caravanned back to Canyon for fear he would not make it home . . He did not look this good. He always photographed well.
