Another stab at self discipline

I read somewhere that writing is a skill that should be practiced, like a piano. It’s not like riding a bike (although that is also a bad analogy because I tried riding a bike recently and it did not go well) or driving a stick shift. So, in the interest of maintaining the skill, I have decided to write again. Now, I am going to shutter this particular blog and return to the one I’ve been writing at since 2006. Why? In the interest of streamlining my life, I don’t want to remember 2 places.  You can go here to read it.   

Happy Mother's Day!

Found languishing in the drafts folder..I have no idea why I didn’t hit the PUBLISH button in this one, but here it is on the last day of July.

Happy Mother's Day to all y'all with kids, young and old. Mine are getting up there, 3 in their mid-30's and 1 in his mid-20's. All of them still middle school-aged in my head, but that's logical given that I'm still in my mid-30's mentally. I turned 59 this year. What a concept, nearly 60 and probably 10 years past 1/2 way to my expiration date (as far as I can tell, only God knows and I'm ok with that. )

Being a mother has been amazing, challenging in myriad ways, and quite the growth experience. I've needed help all the way through it, from God, from the kids father, Himself, and from Capt, my most recent beloved. God chose to take Himself and Capt to Heaven and honestly, it was probably the best thing for both of them, as life was getting pretty uncomfortable for them. I don't look at it as something God did to me, but more as something He did for them. What a wonderful thing and eventually He will do it for me AND FOR MY KIDS! That has been the biggest gift of my life, each of them finding their way, guided through experience and circumstance, and by The Good Shepherd, into the flock of His sheep. I think of that daily, thank Him for it, and wonder at the paths they took, as well as my own, crooked, full of digressions and attempts at finding my our ways (those NEVER worked, I hope we've learned at this point!). I am sure more mistakes will happen, more incidents of personal attempts and failures and returns. 

The fact is, my kids have prevailed and I am so proud of them! Each in their own ways, each with their own stories of falls and redemptions, and returns to God's comfortable haven. I look at each one, seeing who they were when they were infants, toddlers, younglings making their own decisions in their own ways and so proud of how they turned out, even when there were periods of fear and anxiety about their lives....would they even survive? They did, and the relief, every day, that they made it through, is miraculous. Thank You, God, for protecting them.

My own mother had her own circumstances that she made it through, both in her life and in watching me make my own (poor) choices then coming through, ending up with Himself, then Capt, and my own kids. Her calm nature and methods of handling crises carried over to me, and how I handle them. I appreciate that. Her gardening, love of plants and flowers, love of learning a new skill, her sewing, all of those things are carried on by me, as perfectly normal things because that's what I grew up with. I am thankful for that. 

For those of you with wonderful mothers, Happy Mother's Day, with children who have survived and prevailed, Happy Mother's Day! For those of you who have survived a rough childhood, You Made It! You have prevailed in the face of adversity! You may even be your OWN mother, looking after your own self and doing the best you can, congratulations, YOU MADE IT.

I did the thing....

 March 18, 2024. This languished in the drafts folder until just now. (July 30) 

Last week, I did the thing. I made a trip, by myself, for myself. As I was returning home, there was much pondering on it all. It was the first time EVER I had made a trip by myself, for myself, with no real agenda other than DOING IT to see if I could. And I could, did, and will again, Lord willing.

Several months ago, I decided to return to Key Largo, after 3 years. Capt and I went several times and love (loved...maybe he still does?) The Keys. It's warm, there's plenty of water, a laid back attitude, and lots of fresh seafood. Dressing Up means putting on the good flip flops. Anyway I wanted to do it again. Maybe a bit to revisit memories, perhaps to make a few new ones, certainly to pugnaciously insist on Doing It sans supervision. 

So I rented a cute little trailer in an RV park via AirBnB, stocked the fridge with wine, crackers, and salad, and set out. Now, The Keys are full of state parks with labeled flora and occasional fauna in the form of iguanas and other lizards. (also bugs but there's sprays for that), and I love me some flora and fauna. Also being March, it wasn't super hot/sticky. Just enough warmth to be able to wear t-shirts and shorts and flip flops. State parks were visited without a single person complaining about being bored or making plans to do other things. In fact, with the exception of a couple of planned dive trips (because reservations were necessary), there were no plans made at all. 

About the dive trips, I went through Silent World Dive Center in Key Largo (highly recommend!) and saw 3 sites....Horseshoe Reef, Christ of the Abyss, and a wreck which name I can't remember but it was pretty interesting. There was a 4th one planned but 1/2 way through the wreck dive I started getting super queasy, so got back on the boat and spent the next 1/2 hour feeding my breakfast to the fish. So I chose not to do it. The seas were kind of rough, even and even 25 feet down they were sort of rocking around. Yes, I took Bonine and normally that works well and I hate to think how I'd felt if I hadn't taken it. At any rate, the waters were clear and I saw many pretty things. It felt good to get back into the water and realize I COULD do it, on my own-ish. The nice thing about Silent World is that they found me a dive buddy both times, so it was safe and comfortable.  I feel fairly confident about the trip to Bonaire now (in June).

I made a decision. On the second day of the trip, I went to Theater of the Sea, and saw a dolphin show, among many other things. I was taking pictures, trying to get some Good Ones, and realized I was watching the show in order to get good pictures, instead of simply to enjoy it. The camera was put down, and the moment was lived in. I spent the rest of the trip doing that, living in the moment, just enjoying it. I'd taken the underwater cameras and go-pro, but never used them, because I wanted to live in the moment and simply enjoy it. That was kind of liberating, really. So I don't have anything to show other people, but so what? I have memories, and if one day I forget them, then I do. I bought a couple of cool souvenirs, and that's good enough. 

I realized I can live in the moment sometimes. Plans aren't always necessary. Sometimes they are, sure, but sometimes they aren't. I also realized I've been under the authority of someone else all my life. Now the only authority I have is God, the only person to whom I'm accountable is God. I don't need permission, nor do I have to run it by someone else, I can just GO. 

I got to see a good friend who lives in a town midway from here to there. It was WONDERFUL! I hadn't seen her in 20 years and to see that she and her husband are doing so well was a lovely, lovely thing. We enjoyed our time together, rekindled an old, old (like...nearly 50 years old) friendship, and I realized we still have a lot in common. She looks nearly the same...she said I do as well, sweet woman. 

All that said, it was good to get home. To my own mess, bed, dog, coffee maker. My own comfortable recliner, heating pad, shower and soap, and water. Who knew that different water could feel so strange? There was a huge pile of junk mail...seriously. Out of all that mail there was 1 important thing. pfft. Paperless society indeed. 

God has indeed created a lovely and interesting world. The underwater part is sort of like being on another planet. It looks different, light is different. Flora and fauna are different and even misleading because most of the "flora" is actually fauna. And jellyfish! This creature without a brain or a discernable nervous system has behavior and functions! There were a lot of them, but not the stinging scary type, just these clear blobs derping around. They are fascinating. Beautiful fish of all colors and shapes. Some of them are tasty too. Grouper. Yum. 

I learned a lot about myself: that I am capable on my own, that people are generally kind if you're kind to them. I was treated very well all around, but I was also respectful to everyone I spoke to. I can do hard things like...I don't know....none of it seemed very hard. I missed my people. Capt, Himself, my boys. But I also found that I'm rational and sensible, for the most part, and if I can be flexible then things go well.

I had a dive trip planned for Monday, but Shelby, at Silent World, called and asked if I'd mind rescheduling due to rough seas and my back issues possibly not being very compatible. That she was willing to do that was super sweet, in my opinion. Everyone I met was wonderful. People at gas stations up and down Florida. Servers at restaurants. Random strangers at the grocery stores. Seriously, I didn't come across a single person who wasn't respectful or kind. It kind of reminded me that people treat you the way you treat them, y'know? That is a universal truth, in my experience. It is unrelated to race, color or creed. Literally EVERYONE I met was kind and respectful, probably because I was as well, but that is how life should be lived, in my opinion. "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you" really does work.

Also, coffee in Venice, Fla...yum, y'all.

Sometimes it's hard to think of

I've been going through photographs from trips taken, times sitting on the back patio in the evening, stuff done I felt like photographing for no other reason than to do it. It's hard to think, coming across a photo of Himself, and of Capt, that those men don't exist on this Earth anymore. Himself woodworking, or calmly enjoying a cigar and a bourbon at the end of the day. Capt standing in the waves of St. Croix, or trying on a new hat. All pictures of real events, real men, who actually were HERE and now aren't. To think that they don't exist here is hard. No one is going to walk through the door at the end of the day, or sketch out plans for another greenhouse, or research places to stay on some small Caribbean island, or suggest a long weekend in the North Georgia mountains. All that's gone, the sharing of the ideas and making of plans for a trip.

Now it's on me to do that. Make the plans, that is. A while back it was a trip with a friend to Barcelona. Now THAT was a trip. You see, the genesis of that trip occurred after Himself died. I got to be friends with a woman from church, and we fantasized about making a trip to Barcelona. Then after Capt died, I called her up and said "Let's do it" and we did. That started it all. 

Now, I'm making more plans. A short trip to the Keys with a friend made me realize that I did indeed want to return to diving. So I went to the local dive shop, scheduled a refresher class and got my equipment checked over. In a week I am leaving, by myself, for a week in the Keys. A small house rented, reservations for a couple of dives secured and paid for, and JOY!! A dear friend from high school, who I haven't seen in 20 years, invited me to stay with her on the way down and back up, as she lives about 2/3 the way there, perfect timing for a stop. That makes the trip double special. I'll let you know how it goes.

I've also scheduled a trip in late June to go to Bonaire (a small island off the coast of Venezuela) with a group of people for the purpose of diving the stellar coral reefs there. Not going alone, but also not going specifically with a Person. Capt was always my dive Person. We would go all over Florida, into the Caribbean, just the 2 of us, to see amazing things. Making these trips without him is doing something he would want me to do, and in fact instructed prior to his death. I'll let you know how it goes.

This Fall, maybe November, I want to go NORTH. To Iceland, specifically. I've heard tell that a trip there is pretty spectacular and there are 3 solid bucket list items I could check off. First: Northern lights. Very weather dependent, I know, but I won't see them in Alabama, that's for sure. Second: A volcano. They're having all sorts of volcanic issues there and I'm much more likely to see one there than here in Alabama. Third: Snorkel a tectonic rift. That's right. 2 continents meet each other and there's an opportunity to actually swim in it. I could dive, if I were dry-suit certified, which I am not, but I can snorkel it without needing any sort of extra education. Maybe one day. Probably not, as dry suits are unnecessary for Caribbean diving and I don't foresee enough cold water dives to justify the expense (and yes, they are exPENSive!) Anyway, Iceland is in the possibility list. It will get further investigations upon the return from Bonaire. I touched base with the woman I went to Spain with, and she's keen on the idea of joining me, depending on all the circumstances lining up well.

So yes, I'm traveling. I'm discovering my own voice, my own way, courage to do it all without relying on someone else. Scary, yes, a bit. It took more courage than you'd think to walk into the dive shop but many of the people there know me and were warm and welcoming. It's an exciting prospect, getting back into the sport Capt introduced me to. 

But I miss them. At night, I will roll over and scratch the fluffy little dog who's decided the best place to sleep is shoved up into the small of my back. His presence is comforting, but it's not Himself, or Capt. The mental dissonance of missing 2 men, although in different ways, is sometimes uncomfortable. I had 30 years with Himself, growing up together, kids, moves, career changes. his death felt like I'd been split in half. It was sudden and completely unexpected. I had 1 week short of 5 years with Capt. He had been sick for 6 months, gradually sliding downhill, but I never thought it would come to THAT end. Not as....I don't know....horrifying. Frightening, confusing, or messy. Just sad and kind of discouraging. 

Now? Pfft. I have no interest in doing it again. Not right now. I can't speak for the future or who I may meet but right now...nope. It hurts too much when it ends. It's too hard to explain to someone the feelings, and well, it's just too complicated. Where would I live? This house is a one-person house and I don't want to move. I have friends I can go to movies with, have meals out, and blessed, blessed solitude. 

I have gotten more involved with church. I joined the choir. The director asked if I'd sing soprano, as he was informed of my alto status initially. Unusual for a choir, we're short on sopranos. Anyway, I said sure, I'll see if I can squeeze out a high F or a G in a pinch, but don't expect more than that. It's fun and I like to sing. Occasionally I will fill in for a sick or unavailable person with the Mother's Morning Out program, which gives me a solid 3 hours of holding babies or corralling toddlers. I love little ones, in small doses, so it's just perfect. The occasional pot-luck dinner means 2 dozen deviled eggs. Breakfast with 5 other women once a week. Taco Tuesday with 2 of them. Plenty enough social life to keep me from becoming a weird hermit, but not so much I get frazzled with it. 

I also started going to a Personal Trainer in August. That has done wonders for strength and flexibility. I also simply ENJOY it. I didn't think I would ever say this....but I enjoy exercise. Having a person with training who puts me through paces means it gets done as well. Sure, I could probably do 75% of it at home but I also know it would never happen. There's something about having someone encourage you through it, correct posture and stance, cheer you on...that makes it easier and more fun. I also get to complain like a Gen Xer about the music, and occasionally they have The Good Stuff (you know, AC/DC, Aerosmith, Led Zeppelin) going. But I never once expected to enjoy it so much. Also....muscles. wow. 

Ok so that's what's going on right now. God knows what He's doing with my life and I have learned over time to accept that and roll with it. No more "BUT WHYYYYY" or feeling like I'm picked on. God didn't TAKE these men from me! He GAVE them the perfect gift of getting to join Him! I love them too much to want to deny them that! 

And it doesn't get any better than that.

One month in....

Here it is, one month into 2024. Wasn't Blade Runner based in 2021 or something? Maybe it was that post-apocalyptic one with Mel Gibson...my post-menopausal brain that's so full of life experiences won't remember the names of unimportant things like movies. I can remember where I saw a specific Lego (under the table by the front door) or how much flour to use when making a loaf of bread (3 cups), but those are useful things. Anyway, where was I...Right. Future predictions that didn't turn out that way. I'm thankful for that. Maybe eventually they will be that way or maybe Mankind will always retain a modicum of decency and it will be more like Star Trek with a Prime Directive to be nice and let people be who they are. One can hope.  

I was thinking about it all earlier this morning, sitting on a warm heating pad (back issues), wrapped in a flannel robe with a cup of coffee on the table beside me. It's a cute little table Dad made in woodshop class in high school. He thinks it's terrible because he sees all the mistakes. I think it's wonderful because it's 70 years old and he made it, and it's stinkin' CUTE. Anyway, there I was thinking about stuff. About how my life has made these screeching direction changes, and how I managed (sometimes poorly, sometimes fairly well) to carry on. Technology cooperates beautifully with my tendency to get distracted and forget the important things (like paying bills, or eating). I only have one bill I have to actually PAY, rather than automatic draft, and they send me a monthly reminder. Once in a while I have forgotten to pay it and got a polite "yoohoo" email. Now I am cooking meals for my parents, and I won't forget to feed them so naturally there's cooked food right there and I might as well eat it. 

But those aformentioned screeching changes, they...y'know...change a person. What's important has changed. A need to Stay Alive, that's not so important anymore. Not that I'm depressed and trying to die, it's just not so...critical, I guess. I've also changed priorities. I spend more time with my family and less time trying to figure out which outfit or shoes to buy, looking for a bigger and better (whatever) to acquire. I have plenty, more than enough. Now I want to gather experiences. 

I am going out there and experiencing the heck out of this world, as much as I can. That trip to Spain created an opening to the rest of the world. This country has so much to offer, and so does everywhere else. God's creation is incredible, all over. I'm also learning the joys of solo travel. Not having to figure out where WE want to go or what WE want to do. If I make a decision and the sandwich at that shop was nasty, no one is to blame but me and I didn't disappoint anyone. I have PLANS. I'm going to the Keys. By myself. I'm going to Curacao (I can't do the little fiddly thing under the second c) with a group, to go scuba diving. I'm pondering going to Iceland, by myself, to satisfy some bucket list items. Northern lights, a volcano, and snorkeling a tectonic rift. That decision will be made after Curacao. I've heard people at the end of their lives say that experiences are the best. I want to have interesting stories, for when I'm not able to travel. My aunt (never married) has done that, traveled all her life. 

I've also learned that my house doesn't have to be PERFECT. I'm living here. My grandson is here every weekend and has a toy corner in the living room. It's a small house! My son is living here while his house (nearby) is being built. So is his Great Dane, Otto. Having had only dachshunds for the last 30 years, something that size is disconcerting, but he's sweet and prefers to sleep in the sun on the front porch. I'm still figuring out what to do with Capt's stuff, gradually. I have this enormous portrait painting of him done when he was in his 20's, and have about decided that's what I'm keeping, and the rest can go. The hats, the fishing and scuba gear, all that. I don't need it and someone else will be blessed by it. 

One of the struggles I've had, with both Himself and Capt, is the fear of being disrespectful of them. Both men wanted and got respect. They both had items they treasured, and held onto for strong reasons. I, however, have no such attachment to those things, but also know if they were HERE, and I got rid of them, they would be terribly upset and feel VERY disrespected. I have been reminded several times by my sons that Himself and Capt are no longer attached to said items, they don't CARE about them anymore. Let go! So, I am. Gradually, bit by bit. I keep one or two things that are also important to me, like the portrait of Capt, and the big sewing desk Himself made for me as a wedding gift. When I am gone, if there's no one who cares about them, it won't matter. I will no longer care either. But still, it's kind of hard. At this point, it's truly just the respect issue. I'm not keeping them because *I* can't let go, I just....I just don't want to dishonor them. 

The Road Warrior! I remembered the name of the movie!! Mad Max! HA!

Has it been that long?

 I checked up here and it's been since late September that I've written anything. Time flies, I guess.

It's Christmas Season now. Once again, I wasn't going to put up much of a tree. Last year it was a 2 foot high thing with a single piece of ribbon that read "Merry Christmas". Grandpunkin was horrified this year when I said I didn't think I'd put up anything, so I was shamed into getting a 6'6" fake tree and a few strings of lights. When those were up, he expressed disappointment that there were no ornaments on it. So, the box came out and we set to work, with him asking questions about each one, as my ornaments all have stories. Some were ones purchased the first year Himself and I were married, in 1986. Others were made by his daddy and uncles as they were growing up. Those are my favorites, the awkwardly painted balls and that one lego thing...whatever it is...that one of them made when he was 8 or 9. There's a copper foil paper origami crane, and now the one who made it is extremely skilled with origami and made a polyhedral ball type thing for this year. He promised a new something origami every year now. 

Christmas is when I miss them. Himself and Capt. And when I have the cognitive dissonance of missing 2 men, without feeling a strong preference. Who do I miss more? I had Himself for 30 years., and he's been gone for 9. I had Capt for 5, and he's been gone 1. They were very different men. One was cautious and diligent. The other was adventurous and carefree. Both were extremely intelligent with mad building skills and mechanical abilities. But I miss them both. 

They say you aren't married in Heaven, and I am thankful for that because there's the age-old (and pointless) question of who would I be married to? Neither, I'm told. It's Heaven, and perfect, and we're all too busy being in Heaven to deal with things like that. 

Thanksgiving was 2-fold. Thursday was with Capt's family (they're all so lovely!), and Saturday was with mine and a couple of extras. Christmas will be on the 15th, because that's when we can all get together. The 2 living in Atlanta will be working on the 25th, and we have never needed to do it on The Day. It will also allow Grandpunkin to have the whole Family Experience with us, involving potato cannons and explosives and bonfires, and then have Christmas Day with his mother and her family. He gets 2 Christmases! Lucky kid!

I am reading an advent devotional, and it is emphasizing the point of Christmas, as a celebration of God's incarnation as a human being, with all the physical stuff like being born and such. He lived with us, as one of us, probably with mosquito bites itching, skinned knees as a kid, maybe likes and dislikes (did He ever have to endure brussels sprouts? Or was He one of those kids who appreciated everything? I mean....He created them, after all.) Living as one of us meant He actually truly understood what we go through as people. The frustrations (remember He got mad and flipped tables in the temple), the physical limitations of our bodies, fatigue, hunger, all that. He knows us, fully and completely, and can relate to our shortcomings. That hits me now and then, knowing there's a perfect God who reached down to live with us as one of us because He wanted to. I love that. It's comforting. This month we celebrate His desire to love us where we are, on Earth, as a limited creature, so He plopped himself into a food trough, with a mom and dad to look after him, and joined us on Earth. That's what Love is. That's why I put up lights and a silly tree full of memories, cook giant meals for my family and remember the 2 men who loved me most. It's how I do it. All through it I remember that God loves us enough to do join us here, where we're at, and walk with us through life and it's hardships, always pointing a way to go, to get to a place where, instead of Him joining us where we're at, we get to join Him where He's at. 

Here I am again

I think grief makes me want to write. I'm not fooling myself into thinking anyone reads this, but it feels good to get stuff out of my head and onto "paper". Maybe one day I'll be very industrious and print it all out so even after the world collapses someone can read it and feel sorry for me. Or not.

Anyway, I was reading through past posts, going on to a year or two prior to Capt's passing. How clueless I was. I always am, you know, not being able to predict the future and all. I was also very careful about what I wrote. Capt was sensitive about his image, and didn't ever want to be seen with a critical eye. He had some real character flaws, but don't we all? Now I don't have to be so careful but I am not going to expose him, or Himself, or my children, to the critical eye of the world. There's no point.

As for me, I am not afraid of the critical eye of the world. I am probably far harder on myself than anyone else could be, because I am living inside my head and know everything going on in there.

Thank God for God, and redemption. He's the only other one who knows exactly what I'm thinking, planning, and all that. He knew what I was thinking when I was so angry at Capt, frustrated with my kids, and wishing I were anywhere else but here with a mind wiped clean by amnesia. Fortunately He doesn't work that way, but sometimes I sure wish He did. 

Now here I sit, on a Saturday morning with all the plans cancelled, a third cup of coffee, wondering what to do today. I think I'm just writing words down to get them out of my head, in no particular order and for no particular reason.

I have, as seen in the most recent writings, been dealing with the recurrance of Grief. It's a heavy load and the problem is that it's mostly borne alone. Sure, friends want to help but no, mostly a singular event.

I am weary of feeling sad. Missing Himself, missing Capt, mourning the loss of long term plans, feeling sorry for myself because there's no Grandpa to my Grandma, probably going to get old alone in the bed. You don't appreciate the sold feel of another body next to you, the safe feelings of knowing you're not alone if something happens, the comfort of having another opinion on a matter...there's an awful lot people take for granted. I guess if all this has taught something, it's been to appreciate relationships. 

I try to console myself with trivialities like not having to share pillows, pick up someone else's underwear, or coordinate with someone else's plans. I don't have to ask an opinion about dinner, choose anything based on someone else's preferences. I can go to a movie, whatever movie I want, whenever I want, and get the kind of popcorn I want. I can binge watch anything I want without anyone else's input or commentary. None of that really matters. I think I'd be willing to compromise those things, but I have also learned that looking for someone merely to have a warm solid body and safety isn't the way to do it.

You see, that's why I met Capt. I wanted and thought I needed another person to feel complete. I'd been half-of-a-whole for over 30 years and when Himself died, I lost half of myself. I jumped into a relationship with both feet and half a brain, and went all-in. Don't get me wrong, I loved Capt and the life (well, most of it. The last year wasn't so loveable) we made, but it was hard to learn how to live with someone so opinionated, especially since I was equally so. 

Now I am having, AGAIN, to learn how to live with myself, and I don't like it. BUT, I have also decided that this is where God wants me and it's my responsibility to accept that, and plow ahead.

Catharsis

 Writing is cathartic. Spilling everything in my mind out, putting it in words, allows the "paper"...what would have been paper 50 years ago...to hold the thoughts so I don't have to. It helps to organize smelly mists swirling around in my head, congealing them into something that can be tangible, compared to something else tangible, like holding a rock in each hand and deciding which one is heavier. Then I can bang them together and maybe make a spark, or at least a noise. 

So last time I wrote, it was about the return of some grief. It's still there, I'm still wearing it around my shoulders like some sort of cloak, and that's ok. There was a prayer meeting at church last night, after a pot-luck supper. I do love a potluck supper. Someone brought pineapple casserole. YUM. The church provided fried chicken, everyone else brought sides and desserts. I contributed deviled eggs because there's never any left over so I don't have to deal with them. Also- cheap and easy. Anyway, at the prayer meeting, it was announced that someone had lost her husband very suddenly, funeral was at such and such on an upcoming day. I had to cover my face because here comes the tears. 

Not because I was feeling sorry for myself, but because someone else was having to experience something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. 

How do you pray for someone in such a situation? I never knew but I do now. Pray for her to have courage in the upcoming days/months/years. Pray for her to feel God's presence and comfort in her grief, and for you to be able to know what God wants you to do to help.

How do you help? Let me tell you. Bring her a bunch of those Bolthouse Farms or Naked (brand) smoothies they have in the produce section of the grocery store. She'll have plenty of casseroles and probably not be hungry. Widows lose weight. I lost 50 pounds. Another friend lost 15 that she didn't have to lose. It's really hard to swallow and you have ZERO appetite, even if you know you probably ought to eat.

Don't try to distract her from her grief, she'd probably feel guilty about that. But honor it, sit with her without talking and if she wants to talk, encourage it. Let her talk about her beloved. It helps. If you knew him well, pull out a "remember when" and "one of the things I loved about him was (this thing)" I remember being so afraid he would be completely erased, and it's incredibly comforting to talk about him.

If bringing casseroles and baked goods is how you are led to help, that's wonderful! Especially if there's kids at home, because they need to eat and she might be having trouble with that. Or not- maybe taking care of her children helps her focus and manage each day. That said, if you bring food, PLEASE bring it in a disposable container, and ready to stick in the freezer, in case she has a lot of other food. I know how wonderful it was, when I was having a horrible day even months later, to reach in and grab something I could just stick in the oven and be done with it. Or if the 15 yr old was hungry, he could do it. Consider the size of the family when you make stuff up. If there's 2 or 3, a 9x13 pan of chicken and rice is kind of intimidating. Make 2 8x8 pans, ready to freeze. Put your name on it somehow, so she will know who brought it, because she's probably not going to remember. I know I'd forget the most basic things, like my own phone number, or personal hygiene. So remembering Ms Anne brought the macaroni and cheese is kind of a lot to expect.  And please, please, don't expect a thank you note. You might get one, but there's a lot going on and social niceties really need to be set aside. 

If you're in a church, and there's other widows there, let them know, and they will come around and be a tribe. I know I have my widow's tribe. When Himself died, there was one particular woman who knew just what to say, and her help early on was invaluable. Now I'm in another town, and found the widow's tribe. We have breakfast every Thursday, sit together at the potlucks, and encourage, laugh, cry, and help each other. 

For the funeral, if there's a request for a donation to a charity instead of flowers, PLEASE do that! PLEASE! I know it meant so much more to me than a bouquet. As nice as they were, I had no idea what to do with them. Same with the plants. The peace lilies. Oh lord...Yes, they're good houseplants but just like carnations, they're funeral plants. Please make a donation. It is so much more meaningful. I got a thank you from the charities Himself and Capt loved, and that meant the world to me. I guarantee the $50 you'd spend on a bouquet that will die in a week would mean so much to a volunteer fire department, homeless shelter, or humane society.

Understand that the widow will probably never get "back to normal". She will likely never be who she was before her beloved died. She has to create a new normal, which will include spells of grief. I don't know how long that will last. It's different for every person. For me, I expect it will last the rest of my life. Himself was called Home 8-1/2 years ago. For Capt it will be a year Oct. 8, 2023. Seeing a picture of Himself, smoking a cigar on the patio, brings me both comfort and sadness. Seeing a picture of Capt on his fishing boat, wearing a broad brimmed hat and happily barefoot, does the same. I imagine Himself in a big rocking chair talking philosophy with Jesus. I see Capt standing in the sand, fly-fishing with Saint Peter. Those images are incredibly comforting but also tears-inducing. 

A widow needs to learn to be able to have the sadness and grief without being told it will pass. No it won't. She will learn to be able to talk about her beloved without crying, but probably not immediately. So let her, and keep a couple of tissues in your pocket when you go for a visit. Some women are able to wear their emotions out there, and are unafraid to show them. Others are like me, mortified at the idea of being so publicly "irrational" (there's nothing irrational about it, but it is still horrifying to let people see me acting such a way). Either way, try to be comfortable with it. If she's a hugger, give her a hug. If not, give her a tissue. If you can, offer a cup of tea. 

Does any of this make sense? Does it help? I hope so. 

Slammed again

A couple of days ago, Himself's (husband #1, who died in 2015) father passed away. It's hard on my boys, who were very close to him. I (and they) know he's gone to his Heavenly reward, and it's not "good-bye", but "see you later". What a tremendous comfort. Really it is. It has also recalled a lot of hard feelings for me- missing Himself, missing Capt. Being a double widow is not easy. In fact I'm feeling down right whiney about it. This too will pass, just like everything else. I know it's not good-bye, it's see you later for both of them. 

But (you knew that was coming), there's still stuff to deal with. I joined the choir at church, and looking out into the congregation there are many elderly couples, married for 50+ years and I wonder if they have any idea just how blessed they are. I wished for a 25th anniversary. While Himself and I were together for 30 years, on our 25th anniversary there was a massive crisis at work and all the plans I'd made had to be cancelled. He promised we'd do it on our 30th, but we only made it 28-1/2 years. Then I hoped for it with Capt. We would have been late 70's for a 25th, but that's doable, right? He passed away a week before the 5th anniversary of when we met. So, do you see why I'm feeling sorry for myself right now? 

Am I going to get the privilege of getting old with someone? It is a privilege, you know. Not a right. When people get married, whether it's young like Himself and I (I was 21, he was 22), the expectation is for 60-70 years together, grandkids and great grandkids, holding hands with each other on the front porch with family all around. That was a dream we both had. 

When Capt and I began our relationship, we were going to travel, see the world, do the things that didn't happen when we were both younger. Some of that was done, with trips to Honduras and St Croix, plans to go to Cozumel and possibly some work in Nicaragua. A couple of weeks before he died, he knew it was coming, and told me to travel when he was gone. I thought he was being morbid. I HAD PLANS.  

Apparently, so did God and they weren't the same as mine.

I tell myself getting mad at God for all this is silly. His plans aren't necessarily the same as mine but they're always good. He knows what he's doing, and has it all figured out. I am supposed to trust that, and I'm trying. 

But I have to admit that I'm still human. It still hurts, and doubly so because Capt's death brought back all the feelings of Himself's death and a huge part of me wants to scream IT'S NOT FAIR only with some choice words added in. 

I'm not special that I should not have to suffer now and then. God has done a LOT for me. He has taken care of my children even when they have tried as hard as they could to mess their lives up. He has seen to it I am well provided for, have friends, and everything I could want, except for the one thing I would really like.  However, I am sure there's a very good reason behind the (how do I say this)....noticeable lack of companionship. Perhaps He is protecting me from something. Maybe He has something planned beyond my imagining. I don't know. I'll go with the protection because I don't want to be all hopeful then disappointed. At any rate, I'm not going to push the issue. I am not going to go out and do the modern thing and get online to look for someone. I'm just...not.

I am changing my name back to what it was prior to Capt. It's my children's last name, and I kept my business in it, because paperwork and such was ridiculous for making a change. I have thought long and hard about it. I talked to a few people, worried that it would be considered disrespectful of him, then decided he's busy fishing with Peter and a few other apostles, probably telling them how to fly fish. He isn't worried about anything, especially his last name. So, there it is. 

In the mean time, while I am very busy feeling sorry for myself, I am going to have a glass or two of white wine and watch some Masterpiece Theater.  I have begun looking after myself without wondering what anyone else thinks of it. I hired a personal trainer and am paying him an exorbitant amount of money to get me fit (it's working!). I went to Spain with a friend. I watch PBS and have a glass or two of cheap white wine. I am living life as a single person now, but with many good memories. I'll be fine. It's how I do things.

I'll think about it tomorrow, for tomorrow is another day.

You know you're old when doctors are all younger than you. 

I had a Procedure today, one of those mildly unpleasant ones that involve fasting for 2 days (clear liquids only), half a day of ingesting a month's worth of laxatives, and some sweet, sweet propofol. I was HONGRY afterwards but felt like I'd had a stiff martini, so rather than indulging in the Niffer's burger Dad had offered, he drove me straight home and I had some leftover stew. Of course, stew is always better as leftovers than the first day. I also ate a whole carton of ice cream (ok relax, it was a pint, not a half gallon) and had several cups of coffee. And a nap, coffee notwithstanding. 

There are more Procedures on other parts of my 58 year old body, planned for next week. Might as well get it all done at once, right? Fortunately none of them involve fasting and laxatives. After that, a sweet year of nothing much unless Something Comes Up which, at 58, can do. Whatever. We live in a fallen world where bad things happen like diseases and infirmities and calameties, (calamaties? Ca-lam-uh-tees? Bad Things.) I can point to my life and show a few, though to be fair, in spite of dead beloveds, horribly injured children, and Japanese beetles eating my roses in spite of the traps THAT DON'T WORK, life's pretty sweet right now.

I am, as I like to recount every morning, ridiculously and utterly without merit, blessed. I have had the immense privilege of being loved by 2 men. I have gotten to see my children come through very hard times with a strong faith in Christ (It does NOT get any better than that.) Most mornings I can thank God for all that but occasionally there's a big fat WHY ME? I didn't do anything to deserve any of this. It just...fell on me like manna and quails in the desert. And I am grateful. 

mmmm braised quail and figs.

Sometimes, this melancholy bent of mind kicks in and says "This is just a chance to catch your breath. Something bad is going to happen, you know" and yes. I know. I also know what can be lived through. How bad it can get and yet, survival happens. If something terrible should happen to me, I know where I'm going so really it's not that bad. My kids will be fine, they don't actually need me now. The only thing I fear is a long drawn out painful bit. I'm a wimp and The Good Stuff doesn't work on me, pain-wise. 

My much-wiser-that-me youngest son reminded me to take it a day at a time. Jesus says in Matthew 6:34, 

"Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of it's own."

So I try not to do that...worry about tomorrow. I mean, God said not to and who am I to argue with Him?

Time to get up!

My brain woke me up at 4am. "Get up!" it said. *whine* I thought. "NO. GET. UP." it demanded. Or maybe it was my bladder. I don't know. They're easy to confuse at Dark:00 am.

Capt. was not a morning person. Bedtime at night was a very reluctant 11:00 or midnight, and getting up was an even more reluctant 8am. Funny thing was, even though he'd complain like a child about going to bed at night ("I can't sleep if I go too early! I wake up at 2 am and can't go back to sleep! <etc>...), as soon as his head hit the pillow he was OUT. How do men do that? Himself was the same way. Lay down, go to sleep. All 4 of my sons, same way. Lay down, go to sleep.

It takes me more time than that, and a certain orderly ritual to tell my mind it's time to sleep. I MUST READ. Even if it's only 1/2 a chapter, laying there, book in hand (and yes, it must be a book, with paper pages and a pretty bookmark. None of this electronic e-book thing, even if it has non-blue night mode or whatever), reading with the bedside lamp. In years past, there was the warm presence of a softly snoring man. Now there's the warm presence of a softly snoring dachshund. Also male, also goes to sleep almost immediately. He has to arrange his blanket Just So, but then after circling 3 times he's out. 

Once my brain says GET UP, that's it. There's no laying there, possibly going back to sleep for another hour. It starts clicking and whirling and thinking too hard. If I stay in bed, it goes into dark places and worries about things over which I have zero control, and the only way to stop that is to GET UP. 

The coffee maker is set to start it's Oh-So-Vital job at 5am. Getting up at 4 means I have to *gasp* WAIT for the Elixir of Life and Productivity. I don't like that because I am a spoiled princess, but for obvious reasons, wait I must. But only a few minutes. I remind myself during those minutes that I didn't have to walk 2 miles to a muddy river to get the water. I didn't have assemble the coffee components while groggy, nor milk a barn full of cows.

I decided, a while back, that if I believed in reincarnation (which I don't), then in my last life I must have been an Amish dairy farmer, due to the regularity of waking up at 4am. Granted, the 4am wake-up call is probably due to the 8pm bedtime, but it's a self-perpetuating cycle, isn't it. I try hard to stay up until 9 or 10, but honestly, why should I? 

4am is a great time to get up! It's before the sun or birds are up, and there's something really sweet about having open windows, and hearing the first birds yell about whatever it is they're yelling about. 

HEY...I'M UP! ARE YOU UP YET? 

I AM NOW! IS BOB UP YET? 

YEAH I'M UP! WHERE'S JOE?

I'M DOWN HERE BY THE POND!  and so on.

The first ones up are always the wrens. They like the front porch, and will peer through the window, probably wondering where Capt. is. They were good friends.

A goldfinch on a sunflower, in the front yard

Isn't it wonderful how systematic and reliable God is, when it comes to the natural world, the rising and setting of the Sun, the phases of the moon? I'm always enchanted by a good full moon even though it's happened every single month of my life. The dependable regularity of the seasons...you know it's Spring when the pond peepers and whippoorwills start up every night.  Mankind can make a mess of things, but the seasons happen, the sun and moon do their things, the tides rise and fall, and the wrens yell first thing. Comforting, isn't it.  It's a testament to God's reliability even when things seem to be going sideways.

 Lord, you are my God; I will exalt you and praise your name, for in perfect faithfulness you have done wonderful things, things planned long ago. Isaiah 25:1

And so here I am, at 6 am and already finished my second cup of coffee. The dog, who probably has more sense than I, is asleep next to me on the couch, snoring softly and twitching a bit. The sky has lightened and the birds are telling each other whatever it is birds say. #3 just butt-dialed me on his way to work "Sorry, Mom! I didn't mean to get you up!"....no worries, I'm up, have a good day!

This is a magical part of the day. No phone calls except accidental ones from my favorite people. No noise from the road yet, just Dad ripping by in his golf cart, on the way to get the newspaper. I love it. Maybe that's why I am up at 4am.

Recovering

 I still have a hold-over cough from the Flu That Knocked Me Down. Or maybe it's allergies. Who can tell? The privet is blooming and that usually does a thing to me. Benadryl at night and Zyrtec in the morning means I can function with minimal noise.

Anyway, part of my morning routine is to spend a bit of time thanking God for whatever it is I am thankful at that moment. Today that means breathing, tasting food, and the myriad gifts that allow such luxuries as travel. 

Getting to see a whole different part of the world, where things are done a bit differently from here in the Deep South USA, only actually not that differently. People in Barcelona are unfailingly polite and friendly. Very Southern. There's a quiet "oh, disculpe!" ("excuse me!") if we bump into each other in a crowd. I was warned, pre-trip, about rampant pickpocketism there, but nary a pocket was picked. People smiled, and smiled back, asked where we were from, offered opinions about foods and politics, all very Southern, from my perspective.

Children stayed up a lot later than we were accustomed to. 11 pm, and there were young ones shouting and playing on the plaza below our room. When my kids were that age, bedtime was no later than 9pm. Ever. More for my sake than theirs, to be honest. 

I have a thing about cathedrals and the ornateness of them. I was raised in austere Presbyterian churches. Minimal ornamentation, all of them. When visiting a cathedral I was hit by the sheer...overwhelming....

Little nooks for particular saints, gold leaved, statues, each one with a small bank of candles in red glass jars on a rack for people to light in honor or whatever....not real sure. A small sign and box on each rack asking for 1 euro to light

Beautiful stained glass windows, 

 seats for families indicated by painted coats of arms, 

 all really lovely and interesting and through my head was the thought "how many homes could be built with the gold on this stuff?" but that wasn't the intent, I don't think. These were built for the Glory of God, and that's not a bad thing but still. My austere Presbyterian sensibilities had to set aside their prejudices and accept the beauty for what it was and that it didn't care what I thought about it all.

The whole city had these little pockets and pieces of beauty. Why should a lightpole be plain when it could be amazing? 

Why should the hinge on a door be plain when it could be beautiful?

Why should the wall of a building be ugly block when it could be plastered with an amazing image? What a wonderful sensibility! It was fun to turn the corner in an alley and find a dragon, or a small courtyard with a beautiful fountain.

This is a city that recognizes it's special, like an old woman who's lived an interesting life and recognizes she's beautiful.

Barcelona, Spain

I did it! I traveled to Barcelona, Spain for 10 days, with a sweet friend and we had an absolutely amazing time. 

I also brought back a 10+ day flu that knocked me flat on my back and is still shaking me like a German Shepherd puppy with an old rag. 

Yes, I have a bajillion pictures. No, they aren't here because they're on the other computer and being shaken like a rag in a German Shepherd puppy's mouth means I'm too addled to put them up just yet. You'll have to trust me, it's a beautiful city. Absolutely unequivocably (dang it I've tried 4 times and still can't spell that right) gorgeous. The people are kind and friendly, the food is glorious, and the graffiti is, mostly, limited to the metal roll up doors covering the shop entrances. 

The food. Oh my word. We dined. I knew when planning the trip that I intended to eat and did we ever. Tapas are a glorious way to enjoy a meal. Small plates of delicious goodnesses meant to be shared while enjoying wine. Ham croquettes, pan de tomate (tomato bread, a food that is greater than the sum of it's parts), grilled vegetables with romesco sauce, delicious delicious olives, Iberico ham, manchego cheese marinated with herbs and olive oil, and breads. The breads. I had croissants for breakfast, snacks, and whenever. Basque cheesecake made with gorgonzola, parmesan, and marscapone cheeses...sounds weird as heck but oh my goodness. Gelato...

Ok here's a gelato story. There was a little store just down from the hotel. In the evenings we would get a cup of gelato. I saw what was labeled as "Pesca" so asked for that..."Pesca (PESS-ka), please" and the girl working there looked confused and slightly horrified. My friend, who's far better at Spanish than I, started laughing at me. "You just asked for fish!" But...I was confused. She said to the worker "she means Pesca (PESH-ah)...PEACH". oh...ok well, I didn't know but now it makes sense. The worker laughed, I laughed, and now I have my language butchering story to tell.

We walked everywhere. 5-6 miles a day, in a gentle amble, in and out of stores, museums, cathedrals. The first day we found ourselves wandering into the chapel of the nearby hospital, drawn in by the sound of this ethereal singing. We found ourselves in a tiny sanctuary, with a circle of blue-clad nuns singing beautifully in this acoustically glorious room. We stood quietly and listened, and yes, I felt like God was there with them, this worshipful angelic singing. 

We walked to the Mediterranean sea. It was like a lake, very calm. The beach was rocky with pebbles and we picked up bits of sea glass, all sorts of colored pebbles and some very coarse sand. We sat and watched young children hurl rocks into the water, and I gave a mental "Hello! I'm here!" to The Capt. That day was capped with a 60-day dry aged Galician beef steak and red wine. OH my goodness.

We took a cooking class one night, and learned how to break down a cuttlefish for seafood paella, make a strawberry-tomato gazpacho, and Catalan creme- which is like creme brulee but much lighter. There were 4 of us, my friend and I, and a mother-daughter duo from New Orleans, and our Chef teacher. The paella was amazing, as was everything else. Also, wine was involved because it's Spain.

We visited the Sagrada Familia, Barcelona's iconic Gaudi Basilica, always under construction. It. Is. Stunning. There's so much to take in with it, small details everywhere and it's simply enormous. I can't even begin to describe it other than to say it's mind bogglingly complex and beautiful inside. The windows, soaring ceilings, absolutely amazing.

I probably have events out of order, but those are bits of what we did. There were street musicians everywhere, all the time. New Orleans jazz, classical Spanish guitar, soulful saxophone, a Catalan 10-person band, some guy beat-boxing the Bee Gees (ok yes that was as strange as it sounds). Our room overlooked a big plaza with the Barcelona Cathedral on the other side. At night, the windows were left open and we could hear a woman playing guitar and singing, as we went to sleep. (5th floor, no one was going to sneak in)

The hotel breakfast was delicious. Every morning I had Iberico ham and croissants, strong coffee, fresh fruit. Yes. I love Iberico ham. acorn fed, dry aged, dense and sweet, and sliced paper thin. 

This was the first of the Capt ordered trips. I couldn't have asked for a better traveling companion. She and I shared the same easy-going, no real plans sort of philosophy. Other than the cooking class and tickets to the Sagrada Familia, we did nothing by a plan. "Where to today?" "I don't know, let's see what happens if we wander this direction..." We found tiny shops, beautiful alleys, little bits of beauty tucked away from the crowds. We found crowds, musicians, parks, and you know, I felt completely safe the whole time.

There's this thing going around on the internet about how gorgeous the Barcelona policemen are. I saw that and though "Ok so they found a couple of pretty ones but the rest are normal." Nope. The Barcelona policemen are, to a man (and the 2 women I saw in uniform), absolutely stunningly handsome. I have never seen such. In fact, most of the people I saw were attractive. I thought that was interesting. But, it's a walking city so everyone, young and old, was pretty fit. But those policemen. Holy cow. 

So I have a lot more to say, and many many pictures to post, but I am still a bit dizzy and recovering from the flu I caught while there. Fortunately I didn't start feeling weird until the evening of the very last day, which made the trip home SUPER fun. I'll talk about that another time. 

 

Philippians 4: 12-13

Well, it's been a bit since I've written. There's a combination of reasons. I haven't felt like it much, alternating between being busy and being depressed. Yes, depressed. Oh I know, God is with me and all, I get that. I know He is. I also know that currently I feel at loose ends. After Himself passed on in 2015, I spent nearly a year trying to gather my wits, help my children recover, generally try to do everything for everyone else and ignore my own needs. That certainly kept me busy. Then when I felt like they were all managed, I started school and that kept me busy for another couple of years. Capt came along, more busy, more someone else to fill my time and energy.

Now? The kids are not kids. They're all grown men living elsewhere doing their own grown-man things. I am at loose ends. Time is being (sort of) filled by (sort of) taking care of whomever I can help (sort of) but it all feels like I'm doing things that can be done by anyone else with half a brain. Loose ends is putting it mildly. More like...purposeless. Anything I am doing is either for my own household of me-and-a-dog, or doing something that really is a thing that people are handing to me in order to keep me busy. Housesitting for someone (actually kind of fun, but c'mon. Anyone could do it), "babysitting" a 12 year old who annoys his father. That starts tomorrow and I'm going to put him to work doing things I could more easily do with the tractor, but he needs to do some work.

Historically, when I have found myself in such a place, I've charged ahead and tried to solve the issue myself. In retrospect, that hasn't always worked out well. So now, I am trying to do that thing we are admonished to do in the Bible...be quiet and wait on the Lord. But how do I know if I am waiting, or ignoring an open door? 

So I pray. A lot. I read. A lot. I do the small things that need doing...pull a weed, trim a bush, point to the manure pile and wheelbarrow and instruct a 12 yr old on the finer points of composting. (He's going to love that. I just know it.) And I wait. 

How do I wait? How do I keep from getting impatient and charging full steam ahead into disaster? One day at a time. Today, I can wait. I do all things through Christ, who gives me strength. Including wait.

 I know how to live humbly, and I know how to abound. I am accustomed to any and every situation—to being filled and being hungry, to having plenty and having need. I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength. Philippians 4:12-13

I am working on the humbly part. Humility is not my default position. But through Christ, who has walked beside when I was a wife and mother, held my hand when I was filled with fear, thrown me a lifeline when I was in the bottom of a pit, I know I am not alone in this new chapter of my life. He doesn't ask me to have everything planned out for the next 40 years, He only asks me to trust Him. There are SO MANY bits in the Bible about trusting Him. Over and over and over. It's easier than you think, and we make it harder than it should be. 

But, for today, I can trust Him. I don't have to worry about tomorrow or next week. Today, I know I can trust Him, to open doors that need opening, closing the ones that He wants closed. He has closed many doors for me, and in the past I would refuse to accept that and force some open. That never turns out well. So for now, I am working on accepting the closed ones and waiting on some to open somewhere down the line. 

That doesn't mean it's easy to accept. I don't make things easy. Never have. I want what I want and sometimes, often, what I want isn't the same thing as what God wants. My job, as I have learned from trying to be the captain of the boat, is to allow GOD to captain the boat, and wait on His commands. It's not easy. But, I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength. For today. 

8 years on

 On this day, February 23, 8 years ago (2015) I was alternating between my husband's (Himself) ICU bed and the waiting room filled with friends and church members. He'd had a massive heart attack, 100% blockage of one of the main arteries in his heart, and I'd been told *IF* he survives, he'd have been deprived of oxygen to his brain for so long he'd be a vegetable. Not quite fully brain dead, but no cognitive function. They were, as expected, doing what they could to keep him going, probably out of respect for me and my need to accept what had happened. It took me about 24 hours to really wrap my mind around it all, and when I was told the medicines weren't working anymore and probably should accept the inevitable, I did. After they turned off the machines keeping him alive, it took about a minute and it was over. In reality, I think it was over about 10 minutes after he'd had the heart attack the day before and his body was kept going but *HE* wasn't there anymore. I hope not, anyway. 

June 2014, 7 months before he passed away

And thus was the ignominious end of a 30 year relationship. The following few days were marked with confusion, a flurry of activity preparing a funeral, anger at everyone and everything, and a complete inability to realize just what had actually happened. Himself traveled a lot for work and honestly it just felt like he was off on an extended trip. It took a solid 6 months for my heart to catch up with my mind and accept that no, he wasn't coming back. Those months saw many attorney meetings, paperwork, consolations from friends who stepped in and kept me from feeling too sorry for myself. I learned how to do things on my own, without consulting someone else's opinion. It had been a very long time since that had happened and, while I was rusty at it, managed well enough.

I lost a lot of weight....about 50 pounds...because eating was problematic. I didn't want to. Everything, for that initial 6 months, tasted like sawdust and hunger pangs were satisfied well enough with a glass of water or a cup of coffee. One friend recognized what was happening and stocked my fridge with bottled smoothies. Easy food for someone with no motivation to cook. I certainly had 50 extra pounds worth losing, and people who didn't know what had happened complimented me and asked how I'd done it. When I said "I didn't eat for 6 months" and they asked why, their response to my answer was universally "Oh...." 

Losing their father was hard on our kids. It saw them enter into their own versions of tailspins and even now, 8 years later, they're just starting to get their equilibrium. I'm proud of them, they're finding their feet now and learning to manage the loss.

After meeting Capt, I saw my life entering yet another new chapter. It was a rather short one, just one week shy of 5 years. That loss caused the grief of losing Himself to reintroduce itself in a loud way, with once again the gasping for air and nausea and complete loss of appetite. There's no extra 50 pounds to lose this time, so I have been forcing myself to eat and only lost 5 pounds (that was plenty...pants are loose but not falling off this time, and I despise shopping for clothes so didn't want to have to do that all over again). Once again, little things set me off to crying. Just thinking about either of them will do it. Remembering a trip made, or a plan for the future that won't happen, or an evening alone and no one with whom to discuss plans, those small moments will cause waterworks and embarrassment even though I am the only one (other than the small silly dog, and he's sympathy personif...I mean...caninified) in the house. 

I have some friends here now who Get It. Several of them have also lost husbands and it is so comforting to be with someone who isn't shocked by sudden unexplained tears, or has a word of advice on whether or not to take a specific trip. 

Anyway, today is a sad anniversary, but also kind of a happy one because Himself is perfected and waiting for us to join him.  I've always said, both with Himself and Capt, that it's never good-bye for a Believer. It's see you later. That is a comfort beyond words for me.

In the mean time, I eat expensive ice cream straight from the carton. Watch ER as much as I want, and decorate the back porch the way I like. 

Dream a little dream for me

 Capt's beautiful fishing boat will be going down to Mobile this weekend. A friend down there has offered to sell it for me. Since he's in the business of boats (He modifies/fancies up/customizes them ,and did so with Capt's), he's in a good position to sell it. This boat was a lifelong dream for Capt. Since he was 12, he wanted to run a fly-fishing charter on the coast. Until we met, he really didn't think it would happen. I encouraged him, pushed him, and helped him make it happen. Then he got sick. Long-Covid, etc. The boat sat in the driveway, the fishing gear sat in the office. I kept telling him he'd get better, and the dream would happen, just right now...it's not. Now though...I imagine him fly-fishing in Heaven, bare feet dug into the sand, or maybe in a boat just like this one, standing on the platform, poling through a salt marsh, looking for redfish tailing. But this boat sat in the driveway and every time I see it I think of a dream unrealized. Now, though, maybe it will become someone else's dream boat. I hope so. It is a thing of beauty, that boat. Every bell, whistle, and accessory you could want. Comfortable, too. And it makes me sad to see it, sad to think of it leaving, but I will also be glad it's gone somewhere else. Maybe someone else's dream will be realized. 

This house I am in here in East Alabama, it is a dream Himself had, that we would have a small house on this piece of land, comfortable with everything we want and nothing we don't need. Enough land the grandkid(s....eventually, hopefully) can play around and have woods to walk through the same way he and I did when we were kids. We talked about a floor plan, way back in the day, and that is the floor plan I have now. After he died, I knew exactly the house to build, because we had discussed it for years. A dream partially realized, but without Himself's hand to hold while sitting in rocking chairs on the front porch. I'd rather have the hand to hold, but that's not an option anymore.

Capt had a dream of traveling the world with me. He told me, the week before he died, to travel. "Put stamps in your passport. Go see Europe, Greece, Israel". I'm starting to do that, making the plans. I'd rather do it with him, but that's not an option anymore. 

I know God has this all worked out. He's smart that way. He's always had it worked out. The only thing that has changed is my perception. My job is to trust that He knows what He's doing and since He's never let me down or gone back on a promise, I know I can trust that it will all work out. I can't deny that it hurts sometimes. I wish His promise included growing old with someone I was young with. Or even middle aged with. At this point I am unsure of any of that. I'm learning to trust His judgement about my life, His plan, but it's not easy.

God is not man, that he should lie, or a son of man, that he should change his mind. Has he said, and will he not do it? Or has he spoken, and will he not fulfill it? Numbers 23:19

Slammed

 One of the typical ways grief happens (and I know there's a more elegant way to say that, but I can't remember it right now), is in waves. At first, they're constant and overwhelming, over and over and over again and you can't catch your breath or think. Gradually, as time passes, the waves are less intense, further apart, and even there's calm spots between them. That's how it's been. I've breathed, gotten some things done, thought about the past without feeling like I wanted to crawl in a cave or throw  up. 

That said, there are things called "rogue waves"...if you're on a boat, a rogue wave can come along out of nowhere and upset the whole thing. Same with grief. I've been rocking along, doing "well", getting some things done and learning Spanish. But the past few days...ooh boy. Rogue Wave. 

And the heck of it is, being a Double Widow, the grief of my most recent loss has reactivated the grief from losing Himself so I get to have Grief Squared. Talk about messed up. My emotional equilibrium is all a-kilter and I've been going from feeling stunned (same as the first few days right after both Himself and Capt passed away) to wanting to crawl in a cave and throw up. Food....gross. Get it away from me. Sleep...yes please. And lots of it. Please, ANYTHING to get my mind into another direction. I know it will pass, and I'm being patient about it.

I just want to try to explain it. 

I know God knows what's going on. He knows grief far more than anyone of us can imagine. I know that, and it makes it possible to talk to Him about it. But there's still dumb little things that will set me off. Finding a bottle of cocktail sauce. Capt loved steamed shrimp and cocktail sauce. Catching a whiff of smoke from a good cigar. Himself loved a good cigar now and then and I got to approve which ones. Daffodils, Himself's favorite flowers, are blooming now. So. Many. Things. Even right now, putting it all down in words, is making me get chokey. 

I want to play a pity party...but c'mon. That's silly. Lots of people go through things. I'm not special. But I miss them both. So much. 

Stream-of-consciousness

 Yeah, it's been a couple of weeks. I've been busy. I like being busy. Dad and I got the pantry redone- new shelves, different layout. This house has 10 foot ceilings so I wanted to have the shelves go all the way up to provide storage for the rarely used stuff like the pressure canner, etc. Now it's off the porch and I can make the porch into a real place and not a storage place. Theoretically. We'll see if it stays that way.

Anyway, yesterday was Valentine's Day. Lots of love flying around. I went to the grocery store and there were men all over the place, buying flowers and choosing cards. The wine section was full of them too. I wondered if I should feel sad because I wasn't getting flowers, cards, or wine, but realized that was silly. I wasn't sad at all because

I am immensely privileged. Enormously so. In the last almost 40 years, I've had 2 men who loved me more than I ever loved myself. They made me feel like a Queen, spoiled me silly, and loved me thoroughly. Why on earth would I feel sad? It was a privilege! Of course I miss them both. I know if Himself hadn't passed on, I would never have met Capt, but that wasn't the grand plan. He did, and I did. Being loved by 2 men is more than anyone could hope for. I know I was blessed! 

So after asking myself if I was sad about all the flowers and cards and wine, and none of it for me, I realized that NO I WAS NOT. I was happy with having had such a life. Both times, the relationships had their joys, struggles, ups and downs. Both times I learned a lot from them and am a better person for them. God knew what He was doing. He still does. My job is to realize that and carry on. And so I am.

Now, I'm planting a garden, picking daffodils, and letting the dog on the couch. My life is shaping up quite differently from how it was. I'm cooking dinner for my parents 4-5 nights a week. I love to cook and doing it for 1 is awkward and silly. So being able to cook for them, and they'll eat anything I fix, is great fun. I have breakfast with friends once a week, attend things every Tuesday, dinner with my son once a week, and have something happening nearly every weekend. My life is full and as busy as I want it to be. 

What has been interesting, is how grieving for Capt has led to grieving for Himself as well. Kind of like everything has clicked back on. I'm doing a lot of reminiscing, looking at photo albums, unpacking memories. There's so much to think about. I am doing a lot of reading about saying goodbye, getting my act together, relating to God in this way and that. Learning stuff...busy times. Occasionally a bit overwhelming but mostly making for a full day. I'll admit to taking a day off now and then, and binge-watching something inconsequential, just to be able to turn off my mind for a while. 

Anyway, that's why I haven't written in a couple of weeks. I'm here and alive. 

Chuffed

 

A few days ago, the internet capabilities of my computer flaked out. After a flurry of advice from lots of people, none of which worked, I consulted my Computer Genius Son (he's working on his electrical engineering degree and has been building computers since he was 14). He made a couple of encouraging noises, and I then consulted a website that said this sort of thing happens sometimes with my particular brand (Lenovo), and here's a list of things to try. I tried things 1-5 to no avail. Thing 6 involved downloading a $40 something and I was reluctant. Thing 7 meant going into the deep depths of the internal workings and fiddling with stuff. What the heck. I did it. (not literal physical fiddling, but going places with mysterious names like WLAN). And it worked. Boom. Peggy got the computer working with the help of an Indian IT woman who understood things and put them on the internet. There are an assortment of phrases describing how I'm feeling right now, but my favorite one is "chuffed."

I feel chuffed. 

Typically my response to a mysterious thing going wrong is as described earlier. Ask advice. Panic. Give up. Sleep on it. Get frustrated and have a cup of tea. Sleep on it some more. Pretend it's 1974 and laptops don't exist. 

Except that the loss of internet capabilities also meant my beloved embroidery design program wasn't working. That thing....cost as much as a small used car and I need it to use the embroidery machines. While I would have been able to transfer it to a new computer I DON'T WANT A NEW COMPUTER.

Anyway, the whole point is moot now. I got the problem solved, with only minor inconvenience to the people to whom I turn first for such issues. 

Shortly after Himself died (Feb 2015), the washing machine failed spectacularly. Quit working. Entirely. Not a squeaky belt or peeing all over the floor, just a solid NOPE. O WHAT TO DO? I did not want to ask for help, so I turned to the internet (just like I did this time) and found a forum of people offering advice, and was able to fix the washer with a $150 motherboard that I installed myself (instead of paying someone. I'm that cheap.) That was the first time I'd ever fixed an appliance. Color me chuffed the first time. Before you get all amazed that I was able to install a motherboard, it had several connections that just plugged in, and was configured such that it was impossible to plug something in the wrong place. But still. 

So ok yeah, I'm probably bragging but I am kind of proud of myself. 

Now I need to figure out how to work the pressure washer.