Driving Mr. Rob - Part 4 - Twin Falls to Seattle

I'm not sure if I could ever convey the amount of time Rob spent on his cell phone up to Twin Falls (except, of course, when the cell coverage was lost in Nevada).  But it was a drop in the bucket compared to this part of the trip - from Twin Falls to Seattle.

You see, this was the Friday before the Tuesday, with a holiday on Monday, that we were supposed to have all the funding in place for Group 47's purchase of patents from Kodak.  There were a number of last minute potential funders, some of whom were ready to decide, but their money wasn't available until after May 31st.  And some who had money available but hadn't quite decided to invest yet.  And some who had money and had made the decision, but we hadn't heard from in a while. Rob was on the phone with lawyers, bankers, VC's, friends, family, friends of friends, etc.

But it wasn't until we got to this spot (as seen on google maps) that the last puzzle piece gently nestled into its place.

The piece was $19,000.  When the last investor said she'd deposit that amount by May 31st, it took our breath away.  It was just before noon. We'd just dipped into Oregon. Both silently thanking God. Just then, I looked up and saw a sign, both literal and figurative.  We were crossing the Powder River.

Powwwwwder River - mile wide and an inch deep - Yeeeeeeiiiiipppeeeee!!!

That's the yell my dad learned from his mother.  And that's the primordial yell that came out of me as we crossed that squiggly bit of water. Sometimes a sign really is a "sign."

My dad was there when Group 47 was a mere gleam in Rob's eye, so it was no surprise that he was there at this moment, when it was going from crawl to walk. This moment when we saw the impossible, the assembly of twenty friends and family plus a venture capital firm from Iowa joining hands to secure the purchase of patents from Kodak. This moment leaving us in wonder and in awe, this moment daring us to look away, this moment forever inscribing itself on our souls.   Leave it to my dad to be there in spirit, not to miss celebrating this moment with us. The Powder River was totally, completely, thoroughly unexpected, and yet totally, completely, thoroughly fitting.  Of course dad would be there at this moment of utter exaltation.  Of course.

Rob and I have a running joke that whenever he hands the keys over to me to drive, the driving conditions deteriorate rapidly.  So I was driving... and the road became all twisty... and the clouds darkened... and what was that white stuff coming down from the sky?  Was it... snow?  Why, yes it was!

...at which point I said, "Your turn!"  

It either snowed or rained or both for the rest of the drive that day.  Not exactly what one would wish for while preparing for an outdoor festival, but after what we'd seen that day, we had nothing but hope regarding what lay ahead.

And then, as if the cosmos hadn't yet provided enough for us to be astounded by, as we drove into Seattle we saw not one but at least twenty signs with the number "47" on them. Signs. And wonders. And more signs.

A little shy of 2000 miles.  From home to Beverly Hills through the desert to Scottsdale, past Hoover Dam and Area 51, through more desert and huge skies, to Twin Falls, across the Powder River, over snowy mountains, and finally arriving in Seattle.  Hundreds and hundreds of phone calls, text messages, and emails along the way. All DOTS funding lined up for the May 31st deadline. And now somehow the city of Seattle chose on that day and that time to put the number of our company, 47, on its road signs.  The number is the subject of a mathematical joke proof done at Pomona College in the sixties by Professor Donald Bentley, reportedly establishing that all numbers are equal to 47. For me, it represents connections. That all things could equal one thing. All things part of one whole. That was our trip so far - many different parts, one glorious whole. At that moment, all things equaled 47.

Driving Mr. Rob - Part 3 - Scottsdale to Twin Falls

Good thing we like desert.  Turns out there's a lot more of it in between Scottsdale and Twin Falls.

One of us was looking forward to driving over the new Hoover Dam bridge. One of us wasn't. We'd seen it partly built when we drove through on our way to the Kemp family reunion in Vail a couple of years before. This time, we saw dam signs (insert "dam" joke here, Tommy!) and then we didn't. What bridge?

Here's what it looked like after we made a second run at it:

And here's what it looked like while we're driving over it:

And here's what Mr. Rob looked like as we drove over it:

Contrary to Mr. Rob's noticeable terror as shown above, the dam engineers somehow managed to take away any sense that you're driving across an awesome piece of engineering!  We went right over it without knowing.  A total rip-off.

There's a point at which Hwy 93 out of Las Vegas briefly meets Hwy 375 before you get on to what's called the "2nd loneliest road in America" - Hwy 318.  When we looked at our GPS, it read: "Extraterrestrial Highway."  Yep.  You can google it if you want.  Hwy 375 was named the E.T. Highway back in 1996 after there were lots of UFO sightings from there.  Also, it's right up there near Area 51.

So we were weirdly delighted when at that point, our cellphone power dropped to nothing, and our trusty GPS lost all sense of where we were.

And then we went through a town called... well, "Nothing."

A disappearing bridge, an extraterrestrial highway, sudden cell drop off, lost GPS, and a town called "Nothing." What was the universe trying to tell us?

The rest of the drive to Twin Falls was dramatic in other ways.  As in the skies.

I had to double check to see when these were taken.  But the last one (with the blue sky) was taken a half hour AFTER the first two.  

We reached Twin Falls around 9:45 pm and went straight over to Idaho Joe's Restaurant. The sign on the front said it was open until 11 pm. The fact that they were actually shampooing the carpet should have been a giveaway that something wasn't right.  I had a bowl of chili and Rob had a chicken pot pie and decaf.  By the time we'd finished, we were the only ones in the place.  When Rob asked for a refill on the coffee, our waitress said she'd thrown the coffee out, but would be happy to make a fresh pot if he'd like.  As the carpet shampooers drew closer, it began to dawn on us that maybe they were closing.  Had we read the sign wrong?  Or.... had we entered... a... different... time zone?

Yep, different time zone it was.  Here's the deal.  It's Arizona that threw us off.  Arizona is officially in the Mountain time zone but doesn't follow daylight savings time, so it ends up like Pacific time in the summer.  Then Nevada is in the Pacific zone.  But Idaho is Mountain.  So we'd gone from Pacific, to Mountain acting like Pacific, back to Pacific, and then to Mountain. We thought it was 10:30, but in Idaho, it was 11:30.  

We finally got the hint.  We left Idaho Joe's for the nearest Best Western or Red Lion or Holiday Inn.  I forget.  A confused end to a confusing day.

Driving Mr. Rob - Part 2 - Palm Desert to Scottsdale

There's a whole lotta desert between Palm Desert and Scottsdale.  But I can't get enough of it, so bring on the sand, scrubby creosote bushes, saguaro and joshua trees.  Something about those awesome survival skills gets me every time.  Networking roots, poisonous roots, folding leaves, dropping leaves, spines that collect droplets of mist... A system of discipline and focus, efficiently and creatively using limited resources.  You have to be impressed by that.

We went to Scottsdale to meet the new investors.  Our humble lodgings boasted an oversized jacuzzi tub within inches of the bed, in full view of the door to the outside world.  Fortunately, the complex had a lovely pool, so it was there I retreated while Rob and Dan went to meetings.  Not a little guilt builds up sitting by the pool sipping a cold diet Coke and reading a People magazine, whilst husband and his partner are trying to negotiate a deal to save the company from losing the Kodak patents forever.  When the guilt threatened to build to total distraction, I turned to Commentary magazine, Jewish guilt apparently being easier on me than the People magazine guilt.

When it came time for dinner, I joined the four guys for a trip into Scottsdale. We started off at a recommended haunt, the Rusty Spur Saloon, but the live and loud cowboy music was going to be a problem so we left before we sat down. We ended up in an Italian restaurant.  As long as there's air conditioning, I was happy.

The part of the conversation that has stuck with me most is when one of the Iowa guys told about how his neighborhood rallied to help an elderly woman after she drove her lawn mower into a basement stairwell.  When I commented on how lovely that was, that everyone came together like that, the other guy said, "That's what we like to call.... Iowa."  Meaning that he defines his state that way - by its neighborliness.  Not defined by monuments or theme parks.  But by kindness.

Now, I've never been to Iowa, but I have no doubt of this gentleman's sincerity.  After all, when he asked his wife to marry him, she said yes, but with the stipulation that they live in Iowa.  Forever.  I'm trying to imagine what I could say about California that could be as equivocal as what he said about his state.  I can't really go with anything to do with hospitality.  I guess I'd have to go with diversity.  Everyone's from somewhere else.  And somehow all these different people from different places, rich/poor, legal/illegal, all call California home. I'm not sure diversity ranks higher than kindness, but it makes me feel something that feels like pride. I guess the best of all worlds would be the state with diversity and kindness.

The grand finale of the evening was the unveiling of the tape. We gathered in the lobby. Rob brought in his special carrying case and opened it carefully, revealing the gleaming DOTS tape. Long ago I had underestimated the effect on people when they see the rolls of DOTS tape. But no longer. After all the talk and deck presentations and graphs and charts, there's nothing like the feeling of handling something real. Especially when it's so bright and shiny. They all oohed and awed in suitably reverential tones. Rob tucked the tape back in its case, and we called it a night.

Wednesday was so comprehensive and successful that the guys didn't need to meet on Thursday.  So Thursday morning we bid a fond farewell to Part Two of our big adventure.  On to Twin Falls!

Driving Mr. Rob - Part 1 - Woodland Hills to Palm Desert

This trip had the makings of either an epic adventure or epic disaster.  Fortunately, it was the former.

The annual trek to the Northwest Folklife Festival in Seattle was looking like it might not happen this year, but at the last minute, a few crucial details unfolded, and after an afternoon at AAA mapping out the journey, it started to look more like a go.

The problem was that Rob was scheduled to speak at an Academy event on Tuesday night and we had to be in Scottsdale on Wednesday.  And then Seattle on Friday.  And we were driving.

And so we packed for both the heat of Arizona and the grey of Seattle, stuffed our suitcases, blankets, lawn chairs, and DOTS tape into the van, dropped off the pup, and headed to the Academy for a rehearsal.  I love the photo above because it shows Rob practicing, alongside a slide he put on the screen of Hummel Lake on Lopez Island.  Somehow, seeing him standing between a giant Oscar and a giant Hummel Lake filled me with the joy of whatever forces brought the Hummel family to that lake and the knowledge that one of the clan is on stage as a member of the Oscar family.  A journey no one could plan or ever fully account for.  But there it was.

The evening was about the difference between shooting movies on film vs. shooting them digitally. Rob's part was explaining the science behind both.  I've heard him do the film portion many times (including Claire's awesome diagram explaining 3-strip Technicolor which garners praise each time it's appeared on screen).  But I'd never heard the digital side.  He'd created some great slides showing all the information that gets lost in the process, and also how it gets misplaced, landing on the wrong photosites, causing rainbows where there aren't supposed to be rainbows.

At rehearsal, Rob pulled aside Chris Sanders and Dean DeBlois (creators of "Lilo and Stitch" as well as of "How to Train Your Dragon") and asked them to sign a printout of Claire's painting of "How to Train Your Stitch," where she had painted Stitch as the dragon.  It appeared to Rob that Chris and Dean were just being polite when they said yes.  But when Rob unrolled the printout, Chris exclaimed that he remembered seeing this on Deviant Art and that he'd recommended it!  Then the two pointed at different parts.... ohhh look at how she did the shading here...  Happy dad.

It was a pretty star-studded panel, at least to cinematography geeks:  John Bailey, John Kroyer, Guillermo Navarro, Dean Semler, Chris Sanders, Dean DeBlois, and Adrian Seery.

I love Guillermo Navarro, who, in turn, loves film.  He says that on the set, when the director yells "Action!" there's a palpable feeling of energy and focus, knowing that there's a limited amount of film stock going through that camera.  No such feeling with digital.  Just shoot it again.  And again.  And again.  Also, with no respect for the amount of material one is piling on top of the poor editor who has to sort through it all to find the good stuff.  So Guillermo's advice was that when shooting digitally, use the same discipline and focus that you would use if you were shooting on film.  I guess I just love anyone who, in this day and age, sings the praises of discipline and focus.

Besides our cinematographer friends, we were happy to be joined by our nephew Patrick and his girlfriend, Hannah, along with Lynn Thurman, Jesse Mather, and Devon Brady, son of friend Penny Peyser.

In the lovely connections department:  Martha Winterhalter, publisher of the ASC Magazine, told me she'd been to the laguna Kemp house in the early 70's.  Turns out that she'd worked for an architect (I think) and had been helping an interior designer named Bruce.  She went on location with him and that location turned out to be 1141 Marine Drive.  Bruce Clark was mom's decorator at the Ruthlee house and then at laguna, and I'm sure there are remnants of his 70's era design at the laguna house still.  Kind of amazing to find out that someone my husband knows through his association with the ASC had been inside my old home almost forty years ago, around the time we were first moving in ourselves.

And finally, on display was our old friend the Dalsa camera.  Dalsa had donated a couple of cameras to the Academy.  I have to admit, my heart skipped a beat when I saw it.  Goofy clunker in shape, but the best of the best in digital imaging.  Another great idea snuffed out by corporate short-sightedness.  

The show ran way too long and we said our goodbyes, hopped into our trusty van, and headed for Palm Desert.  The Academy show was about the transition from film to digital. The rest of the trip was going to be about the transition from digital to DOTS. We had a long road ahead of us.