A fresh glimpse of Timm

Twenty-seven months have passed since Timm’s death on April 18, 2008. Time moves on as it must, and Timm’s memory continues its mortal fade. There are moments when his presence again becomes sharp (I have noted this before), such as when I’m listening to his music mixed with my own on my iTunes library at work. A song like Mary Chapin Carpenter’s “10,000 Miles” comes on and I see Timm in his Salem apartment, going about the normal duties of his day, listening to the same song on one of his mix CDs, working on photos on this laptop, his cellphone ringing with his friend Ken on the line or some sponsee from AA needing help. 

The image occupies a small visual numbus in my mind’s eye. I can’t see much except him for that moment in that room since my knowledge of his town, his life there, is so vague. It’s colder there than here in Central Florida, but the region is more beautiful, halcyon even though it rains so much: an outdoorsman’s paradise. It’s why Timm made it his home for so many years. It’s out there – we have the record of it from all of Timm’s photos – but Timm is vague to me in to those surroundings. 

Perhaps it’s because my first impressions of Timm after his death was of going into his apartment the Saturday after he had died, having been the first of the family who flied out for his memorial and then went through his stuff the next day, deciding what had to be resolved. 


On April 20, 2008, it was a rainy cold morning in Salem – winter weather had relapsed after the fairest spring weather on record just the week before (Timm’s last pictures in his camera recorded a brilliant afternoon in the park). Christie had cleaned things up – how much, I don’t know – (Timm was like me, no orderly soul) – so things looked in place; but absent of Timm there was a hallowness to the space, his things not knowing where he had gone. 

Candles here and there almost fully burned down. A guitar pick on the living room table next to some CDs he had been burning. His pack next to the couch stuffed with camera, laptop, legal pads of scrawled notes from work. The TV and stereo dark and silent. The tapestry from Bolivia on the wall spread wide, like wings of Timm’s love of travel to distant places. A pair of sandals next to the couch. All of it was Timm and most resonant in memory because they were all vibrant with his most recent presence, a presence which had been savagely cut off two nights before. 





That moment of parking my rental car in the lot next to his apartment building on a morning when the sky was slowly sobbing; seeing his silver SUV with the mountain bike on the rack in back – the sides of the car glistening with rain; walking the small walkway to his door, seeing a few flowers he had planted outside his window; and then walking into the glowing gloom of his apartment: That’s a lousy summation of what I encountered in person of Timm in his element. So precious little. 

Thank God for the recollections of his friends who were willing to share here; for the writings of Timm’s which I found on this laptop and in some of his journals (Christie has never sent his final ones, whether to protect Timm or herself I don’t know); and, of course, for the silent witness of the thousands of images I brought back from Oregon and have sifted through and scanned and posted on this site. 




A photo from the most recent batch of scans.


All of that, plus the addendum of our family’s distant memories of Timm – he lived apart from his family for two decades, so our memories of him, except from rare visits in the latter years, are from dustier shelves, from years which are ambivalent, full of childhood innocence and pain. 

Remembering Timm is the sum of all that. And, as I’ve said so many times, that’s a poor sum: it does nothing to bring him back in any sufficient way. Grief is itself self-indulgent; it’s about my loss, not Timm’s, a loss which I can understand only as it has torn a lasting hole in me, one that not so much heals as simply I become more accustomed to in my emotional landscape. Emerson touches on this in “Experience”: 

There are moods in which we court suffering, in the hope that here, at least, we shall find reality, sharp peaks and edges of truth. But it turns out to be scene-painting and counterfeit. The only thing grief has taught me, is to know how shallow it is. That, like all the rest, plays about the surface, and never introduces me into the reality, for contact with which, we would even pay the costly price of sons and lovers. Was it Boscovich who found out that bodies never come in contact? Well, souls never touch their objects. An innavigable sea washes with silent waves between us and the things we aim at and converse with. Grief too will make us idealists. In the death of my son, now more than two years ago, I seem to have lost a beautiful estate, -- no more. I cannot get it nearer to me. If tomorrow I should be informed of the bankruptcy of my principal debtors, the loss of my property would be a great inconvenience to me, perhaps, for many years; but it would leave me as it found me, -- neither better nor worse. So is it with this calamity: it does not touch me: some thing which I fancied was a part of me, which could not be torn away without tearing me, nor enlarged without enriching me, falls off from me, and leaves no scar. It was caducous. I grieve that grief can teach me nothing, nor carry me one step into real nature. 

Yet while it is true that grief grants small comfort in loss, grief’s road is still an education which opens doors into life which cannot be found otherwise. Timm’s memory – that fading relic of his existence – has become a valence which equates beauty with healing, wilderness with nurture and childhood with waterfalls. The emotional loss has become a truth which wouldn’t exist without the loss. 

At least, so I reflect today. Next month, next year, my thoughts on this may change, as my memory of Timm changes. 

* * * 

New information re-invigorates the memory, as when a fresh batch of Timm’s slides are scanned, or an email comes in from someone we haven’t heard from for a long time or ever. (As when Timm’s friend Darwin found out about Timm’s death in January 2009 and emailed me with some memories from their shared college days). 

Soon after Timm’s death I figured out some of his email accounts and was able, through his Yahoo! account, to download the following history of Timm which was written by Vicki Weld, a woman Timm had dated for several years. It was meant to be shared at Timm’s memorial, but Christie had such animosity against Vicki that Vickie was kept on the margins of that event and the remembrance she wrote never shared. 

Out of respect for Christie (whom Timm was with in his last years), I have not included Vicki’s remembrance at this memorial site. 

But it’s been a couple of years now and Christie has separated herself fully from our family (my mother had made repeated attempts to contact her, but her calls were never returned; nor were my emails to her asking if she’d like to contribute anything on the anniversaries of his death—and asking her to return Timm’s final journals). 

Vicki’s account of Timm is so vibrant that I think I do this site a disservice by continuing to keep it from publication, so I include it today. I think you’ll enjoy this fresh glimpse of Timm. 

* * * 

Timm's Life

Vicki Weld (April 2008)

Timm was a prolific writer and multi-faceted w/regard to the different varieties of the written word. 

He was an award winning journalist – He worked for the Silverton Appeal Tribune for years as a writer and photo journalist. 







Besides writing for a weekly paper, he also wrote for magazines such as InterAction’s Monday Developments, the premier periodical to which every NGO (non-government organization - - - humanitarian aid orgs) subscribes. Dozens of tourist guides put out by the State or various Counties were written by, formatted & conceptualized by & photographed by Timm. Some of the more notables are the Youth Guide to Oregon, the Oregon Garden guide & the Lane County Visitor’s Guide (some may be out of print by now). 

Timm also wrote wonderful poetry, whimsical at times, searching at others, always enriching. 

He completed a short novel, but in the end decided it wasn’t at the caliber he wanted for a first published work. The story line focused on desire, how it can be a marvelous motivator when energized by God - - - how it can snuff out a soul and entrap people when generated by human want - - - and how, as humans, we wrestle with trying to tell the difference. 






Timm loved to write short stories and could recite them verbatim once they were penned. Along with his Gaelic roots, Timm also researched his Native American roots and was greatly moved by the rich messages found in traditional Native American folklore. He strongly desired to complete a book of parabolic stories written in that genre and did finish at least one story about three salmon brothers and a bear. 

Timm privately nursed the dream that one day he could spend at least a year in Europe just traveling and writing. He also loved the Olympic Peninsula area in Washington state and toyed with the notion of retiring there, also as a writer. He had hundreds of ideas for novels, stories and poems. 





Timm loved the sound and vocal texture of words. He loved made-up words where the sound of it gave one a clue of the meaning (A few he especially liked were “snorgle” or “snurfle” - - - both descriptive of a person’s response to the by-product of a cold.). 

He liked the description of the “grumbling bee” in his favority WH Davies poem. 

He also decided that if he ever opened an early morning coffee shop, he’d name it The Cranky Cricket. 






Timm was an itinerate adventurer who seemed to have almost a Midas touch when it came to encountering amazing natural wonders or simply interesting oddities: 

Once when photographing deer in the woods, he took a bit of a fall and the noise frightened and scattered the deer. One baby doe took off the wrong way and just as Timm picked himself up and turned around, the tiny thing leapt into his arms! The mother, of course, looked terrified but Timm gently placed her baby on the trail, patted her head and then nudged her back towards mama. 






Another time, he headed over to the coast just to “get out of Dodge” (his term for needing some respite from the Valley). He’d not planned to hit a trail, but as he came upon a lookout point over the Pacific, the perfect weather highlighted FIVE different pods of whales that stayed in the same general vicinity until the ocean turned pink w/the setting sun and visibility dwindled. 

Timm rode in Portland’s Providence Bridge Pedal a few years ago, a 10-bridge, 30+ mile track. Upon his ascent to the St. John’s Bridge, a large boat was just crossing beneath him. He was amazed and transfixed as it set to flight several blue heron perched under the structure. He marveled to see them fly at a vantage point where he was above them, looking upon their backs. 

Several years ago, Timm was a photographer for a calendar - - - all set in the greater Silverton area. He loved to stop each day at a secret lake (a small one) and watch a group of geese. One day, he thought he’d include their photo in the calendar. Just as he was perfectly positioned for the shot, the geese took off and he captured this brilliant image of them just lifting off the water. He was always appreciative to the geese “for their cooperation” (big grin). 






Also several years ago, Timm was traveling through Europe and had to overnight in a large city with which he was unfamiliar. It was late, he was tired and hungry and a bit grouchy. All that changed in a nanosecond, though, once he reached the inner town area. He could hear marching band music as he approached and was completely amused to find himself surrounded by hundreds of small fife, brass & drum marching bands. True to nature, Timm was in the moment and tailed various groups in perfect synch and step for the next hour. He described it later as a thoroughly a surreal experience and it brought a grin to his face every time he told the story. 

Timm’s compassion for people was hallmarked by at least three international trips: 


- His first trip was to Amsterdam, Holland to research and analyze recovery options for Youth With A Mission’s Urban Ministry. 


- Another was a medical missions trip in the rainforests of Central America that he coordinated and served as a logistician.

- His third and final trip was service with a 12-step training team targeted at recovery providers and groups in Almaty, Kazakhstan. Timm was responsible for establishing the FIRST ever Alcoholics Anonymous group in Almaty and in the country of Kazakhstan. He was greatly loved and invited to stay in country to continue training smaller groups, recovery homes and even to be the key note speaker at a national conference aimed for government leaders and policy makers. SIDENOTE: It’s also the first and only time that he ate horse meat - --a local delicacy! He was somewhat mortified! 

He did attempt to enter the Peace Corps a few years back, but a foot injury kept him “on hold.” Then he landed his current position w/Congresswoman Hooley’s office. 

Timm was a voracious reader and loved a variety of authors and works. He would often burn through huge volumes of pages simply during TV commercials. He always found it a treat when he found a friend with whom he could discuss new perspectives, ideologies and proposed theories. Some of his favorites writers & or literary pieces: 


• Brennan Manning (anything by . . . )
• Shusako Endo (anything by . . . ), especially Silence and The Samurai 
• W.H. Davies – especially the poem “Come Let Us Find” He loved and often pondered the lines: 'Tis strange how men find time to hate/When life is all too short for love... 
• St. Patrick’s Breastplate (attributed to St. Patrick)
• Philip Yancey (anything by . . . ) 
•John Eldredge, really struck by the book Wild at Heart which he read several years ago. 
• Anything geo-political, especially Confessions of an Economic Hitman by John Perkins 
• MM Kaye --- The Far Pavilions 


Timm loved new challenges. Some years ago, he auditioned for and won the role of Ambrose Kemper for a community production of Hello, Dolly!, mastering the Polka in the process! You can still see him in full costume on the Internet! 

In his younger years, Timm worked on several dude ranches (with a tourist component) as a cowboy. He loved the landscapes of Wyoming, in particular. He also tells a hilarious story of how he tried to pull a Crocodile Dundee hypnotic move on a wild steer. Fortunately, he was a young man with excellent reflexes and was close to a fence which he could jump & use as a much needed barrier against the charging critter. 

Also in his younger years, Timm was in what should have been a fatal car accident. But God obviously had a plan for and a hand on his life. He did overcome the hurdles of a traumatic brain injury and lost hearing in his left ear. In later years, he’d comment how this actually became a blessing in disguise. In order to hear people and not be visually distracted, he needed to lean in a bit and really focus on a person’s face. Should someone seek to interrupt, he’d ask them to wait for it could scramble his brain waves. While Timm was a personable fellow by nature, what started out as a necessity for communication also became such a meaningful gesture to people. Many people commented on how when they spoke with Timm, they felt as though they had his full and undivided attention. This made them feel especially valued, cared for and heard. Timm also joked about how he never needed ear plugs because all his had to do was put his hearing ear to the pillow and VOILA! He didn’t hear a thing! 

Timm was such an eclectic in his musical tastes and expressions. His CD mixes consisted of such diverse singers as Tom Waits (“Waltzing Matilda”--so original!), Joni Mitchell, Glen Campbell (loved “Wichita Lineman”), Rickie Lee Jones, Eric Clapton, Annie Lennox & Lyle Lovett (to name a few). 

Timm loved to dance and could do a decent Tango (minus flips, dips or trips). 

He loved Salem’s World Beat Festival, the music and pageantry. 

Another two annual events that he loved were the annual KINK free concert at Portland’s Pioneer Courthouse Square every September and July’s Waterfront Blues Festival held on the Willamette waterfront, also in Portland. 

Timm loved traditional choir music and sang Bass in various choirs, most recently here at Trinity. 

Timm also loved a good contemporary worship service and was never shy about worshiping God with his whole being - - - singing loudly, swaying to the beat, clapping, raising his hands. 

Timm played beautiful acoustic guitar and at one point had hoped to become a professional musician. His car accident pre-empted that dream, but God re-channeled him towards something even greater. 

While he loved a variety of sports, Timm also had a bit of a talent for sports injuries--most notably in mountain biking (“Really, I didn’t know the drop off would be a cliff!”) & roller blading (“Wow! How can so much skin come off a knee cap without exposing the bone?!”) 

He also loved road biking and running--but had yet another talent for choosing the worst possible days for some of his more notable treks (“I guess I did see that the temp was supposed to hit 103. Ah well. It’s just a little heatstroke!” … or, “Good heavens, I didn’t know rain could feel like a hits from a zillion BB guns!”). For a few years, he did have to put running aside due to a foot injury that was later operated on in 2006. 

Non-injury sports: One long-standing tradition (with few exceptions) of cross-country skiing early Christmas morning; Canoe-ing and splunking the lakes and caves of Central Oregon; golfing (if you can call it that!) with Ken Rush. 


Timm greatly enjoyed attending various political lectures at Willamette University. For several years in succession, he also enjoyed the World Affairs Council of Oregon’s International Lecture Series, a successive chain of world renowned politicians, economists, writers, activists and influential voices who provided a two-hour lecture followed by an hour of Q & A. Most of Timm’s friends thought that was completely boring! But to him, it was invigorating! Some of his favorites: 

• Shirin Ebadi - A 2003 Nobel Peace Laureate from Iraq who spoke on Human Rights and Islam who was imprisoned upon her return from Oregon. He met her at a local restaurant following the lecture! 

• William McDonough, an amazing architect and sustainability pioneer. Timm was greatly motivated by his down-to-earth sensibilities w/regards to turning the clock back on the Greenhouse Effect as well as the everyday toxins we don’t even think about (various toys, etc.). 

• Zbigniew Brzezinski - U.S. National Security Advisor, Carter Administration who gave a powerful talk about the Iraq war, potential outcomes and his thoughts about the War on Terror. 

• Wangari Maathai – A 2004 Nobel Peace Laureate who spoke on the Environment and Democracy and her incredible grass roots movement where “hutwives” (not housewives) have literally changed the course of a nation. 

• Joe Wilson – Former US diplomat to Iraq & Senior Director for African Affairs under President Clinton. He was the fellow who wrote “What I didn’t Find in Africa” about weapons of mass destruction & whose wife, Valerie Plame was outted as a CIA operative.