the lower case is for you walt...

walter was the first person i smoked pot with in college..... my roomate and i decided to have a party the 1st night of our freshman year so we invited everybody we bumped into and went out and bought a case of beer.. needless to say when 150 people showed up  to "party" in our dorm room with our one case of beer there was some feelings of host inadequacy on our part.  somehow walts face appeared out of the crowd and inquired as to the owner of the em escher print on the wall and off we went. i was rescued.  within the year we were living togethe,r an unlikely pair as I look back on it.
he was thoughtful..I was impulsive
he had street smarts..i was a deer in the headlights 
his life seemed to have purpose...my life directionless
he was comfortable... i was awkward

those are my retrospective perceptions.   we tried everything and explored everywhere and whenever i got a litlle too big for my britches, as i was given to now and then, walter had a way of putting me back on earth that bore testament to his gentle soul.  he was never mean, never caustic(without humor) and we never had a disagreement despite living in a room slightly smaller than most jail cells..try that now...  once email arrived we reconnected and shared rambling missives and the occasional visit.  he sent me some of his art just so he could watch over me i sent him a bufallo skull  because i didnt think he had one. he had a great ability to be thoughtful and frivolous all at the same time and for me that seemed to have been a perfect recipe to a happy life. 


here's to you my friend you are missed but not gone.

 

For those who don’t know me, my name is Martha, and I am Walt’s younger daughter. I offer these words today on behalf of my older sister Emmy as well, as we mourn the loss of our father, and celebrate the loving, supportive, and devoted Dad we enjoyed for almost 30 years. These few minutes today can hardly encompass all of our wonderful memories of him, and it is with the heaviest of hearts that we think about life moving forward without him. 

 There were so many facets to my Dad, and when I remember him, a powerful array of images and moments comes flooding back. I remember his beautiful art and furniture, I remember his sense of humor, I remember his kind words in difficult moments, and I remember that he and my mom used to make really cool birthday cakes together. I remember the terrible, grey, paint-stained crew neck sweatshirt with the cut off sleeves (yes, sleeves cut off a sweatshirt) that he used to wear when he picked me up from middle school. I remember trying to explain that “Dad that sweatshirt is like pretty embarrassing”, and the intense horror I felt when he remained entirely unphased. Yes, the trauma of the grey cutoff sweatshirt will certainly not be forgotten.

But mostly when I think of my Dad, I think of his shop in the back of the house that we grew up in. I think of those new, wooden cabinets in the shop that he let Emmy and me decorate. There were all sorts of drawings and decorative words: soccer balls, song lyrics, terrible self-portraits, and drawings of enlarged eyes with exaggerated lashes (random I know). Of course, there were also 90s style rainbow stickers on his garbage cans, accented by a few misspelled words and doodles. He was good humored and gentle. He encouraged us to be creative, we were allowed to build sculptures from his wood scraps, paint them, and call them art. He mde us feel creative, fun, and free.

 That being said, as our teenage years set in especially, I know there were moments that left him feeling...challenged to say the least. Because, let’s be honest, no man can live in a house with three women for 25 years and escape entirely unscathed.  Just as he inflicted the agony of the cut off sweatshirt on us for many years, he had to deal with some tough, but also retrospectively hilarious moments that come with a house of all women. And actually, for the record, it was four females if you count the female cat my sister brought home from a friends house when she was 13, despite my parents adamant protests—just a little taste of the joy of raising teenage girls. Seriously though, the cat was going to stay one night and then go to the local animal shelter, and now, 15 years later, the cat still hasn’t left. But as time went on, my Dad came to like the cat, and you would catch him secretly petting her as she watched football next to him. I think he even said the cat was his favorite coworker at one point, always there in the house throughout the day, and contributing her opinionated “meows” as she remains arguably the sassiest female in the Pascoe family.  Although at first my Dad was furious with my sister when she brought the cat home, he and the cat established a bond. And I’ll never forget how in the final days of his life, she refused to leave his bed, snuggling into his legs, and keeping him company in some of the toughest moments. They were friends and companions. And I think if he were to look at it now, he’d probably label the whole “angsty teen bringing home a cat to spite her parents thing” generally a success. However, there were other incidents that didn’t quite have the same fortunate outcome. 

 There is one story in particular from when we were younger that Emmy and I still think is one of the most hilarious things that ever happened. My Dads shop was always full of sawdust, and the potent smell of wood shavings. To this day, any smell of wood will always remind me of him. There were different types of wood from week to week, depending on what job he was working on at the time. To our delight, one particular job resulted in these long “curly-Q” wood shavings. They were soft, and beautiful, and looked amazingly like the curly tail of a pig. It was almost too easy. Without him realizing, my sister and I scotch taped one of these curly wood shavings to the butt of his pants, resembling a pigs tail in the most phenomenal way. We let him go through the day with this tail taped to his butt, and he even went to the hardware store and back with this fabulous pig tail. When we finally told him at the end of the day, we couldn’t stop laughing, and, needless to say, he was less than thrilled. But, such is the life of a man raising two girls—he had to be the butt of the joke, literally, once in a while.  

 There were so many of these fun moments, but there were serious ones as well. I had gone to the same school, kindergarten through 8th grade, and when I was headed to a new, private high school, I was really scared. I worried if I was smart enough, athletic enough, pretty enough, and just plain good enough. I wondered if I even deserved to be there at all. I’ll never forget that twenty-minute ride to my high school orientation when I was literally shaking in collared shirt…..and he told me I was beautiful. I was a little shocked at first. But he continued, reminding me that I was capable, smart, and…..beautiful. He’d never told me that so blatantly before. It was shocking and effective. I can’t even begin to explain how he would come through in tough moments like this. I remember breaking up with my first boyfriend—I was devastated. And I remember calling my Mom in tears, and her telling me to just call my father. And he was patient, kind, and understanding. He would listen, he was gentle, and he was wise.

I think everyone here will remember these beautiful qualities in my Dad. His generosity of spirit was certainly a characteristic that permeated every aspect of his life. My sister and I are so appreciative of all the sacrifices he made for us, and all the love we received. He was always there, when we got home from school, when we needed help, when we needed love. It is with such sadness that we realize this is no longer there. It is a void that will never be filled, and a loss that words can barely begin to explain. We were so lucky to have him, and it is truly a privilege to be his daughter. As life goes on, we both hope that he’s up there, watching us, encouraging us, listening to us, and loving us, just as he always has.

We love you Dad, may life continue to bring the rest of us just the slightest hint of the love and compassion that you brought into this world. Thank you.   

In March Walt wrote to me:

" I'm laughing out loud, Wendy ! Glad to know you still suffer from the same "affliction" as I do ;). You ARE out of your mind ! But in the best way possible.  Never give up ! ! !

And, he never did.

In early December, three weeks before he died he wrote:

"I'm more convinced that ever that, besides all of the obvious love and support of family and friends, its working that keeps me motivated and optimistic.  I just love it !

We all knew and loved Walt in different ways.  I would like to thank everyone who enabled Walt to continue his work and to bring his love of wonder and beauty into our lives.

You, lovely art, in how many grey hours,
When life's mad tumult wraps around me,

Have you kindled my heart to warm love,
Have you transported me into a better world,
Transported into a better world!

Often has a sigh flowing out from your harp,
A sweet, divine harmony from you

Unlocked to me the heaven of better times,
You, lovely Art, I thank you for it !
You, lovely art, I thank you!

                                         Hymn to Music

                                        Franz Schubert, 1817