Alone but not alone.

Mornings are rough. They just are. I am an early riser, around 5:30am. I wake up around 4:30 but can't bring myself to act like an Amish Dairy Farmer so I lay there until the coffee maker lets me know it's finished with it's O So Vital work, and I can pour a cup without delay. Capt said I was addicted. He was right but it also means I don't growl at anyone (especially him, I was quick to point out) first thing. But first thing in the morning also means dealing with back pain (whatever, there's worse things), and the only one to whine to is a dog who just glares at me for getting him up. If I'm up then so is he. He's a dog. I'm the boss. That's all there is to it. 

There's 2 times a day that are particularly lonely...first thing, and last thing. Himself worked a lot so I was accustomed to days on my own, or filled with child-related tasks. Mornings and nights had a person with me. Capt was retired so I had all day with him, with the exception of the days he was teaching (scuba diving). That last year he was unable to teach so was always here. Then WHOOSH. Gone. My companionship now is in the form of a 12 year old dachshund and a giant pile of books. All I need now is a mob-cap and a cane to shake at strangers and I'll be a widow from an Elizabeth Gaskell novel. Ugh. 

See? Like this...

...have you ever watched Cranford? Amazing short series about a village full of meddlesome widows...wry and funny

This morning it hit me slightly harder than previous mornings...the solitude. I was making a list of chores, getting ready for a visit from my brother and the fancy-pants meal I'm sure will be concocted...that always happens. We are, shall we say, fairly competitive in the kitchen. He said he was bringing a pile of Artisan Veg from his local Farmer's Market, and I went into overdrive thinking of ways to craft a delicious meal, knowing full well he probably already has something in mind. 

But making that chore list, and knowing there wasn't anyone else to interject, or tell me "your list is too long, take off (this and that)" and then my stomach grumbled and there wasn't anyone to tell me to get some breakfast...which I know sounds strange but I don't feel like eating much and would rather just drink a glass of water. Meals aren't any fun when there's no one to share.

Dangit I dislike being on my own. I have been daily asking God to walk next to me, and I know He is. I don't ask for anything for tomorrow, really, because today is what's here and when I need some help. Something about tomorrow taking care of itself. 

Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.  Matthew 6:34

So, one more time, I'm going to grit my teeth and smile, thank God for another day, and plow ahead. I'll keep on talking to Him, because He's there, here, everywhere. 

Of plumb bobs and an ox

 “Do not despise these small beginnings, for the LORD rejoices to see the work begin, to see the plumb line in Zerubbabel’s hand”  Zechariah 4:10a

This was a verse used in a reading from this morning. Holy Mackerel, I thought. Yes indeed. While I wasn't sure exactly where there were Biblical words that said what I was thinking, there they are. In actual words from one of God's prophets. I love it when that happens. (I don't know why this paragraph won't line up right  like the rest of them. Oh well.)

You see, since around 1993, when I received a diagnosis of a lifelong mental illness for which I would always need medication (PILLS! How insulting!), I decided the best way to handle the situation was to look at it as something to learn from, rather than as a dis-something...disorder, disease, what-have-you. An educational experience of sorts. an "Ok God, what am I meant to do with this?" kind of thing. It was a way to handle it and dispose of the potential despair. And it did, help that is. Oh sure, it was a fairly painful process. I was initially deeply insulted that there was something wrong with this part of me for which I was super proud. It was as if God said "Stop it, You don't get to be proud of it anymore." and the insult was gone, replaced by a humility that said "now you're like everyone else you looked down on" (gaaah what a jerk I was!). God took a thing people would call "bad" and used it for something good. It's a lot easier to be nice to people when you aren't looking down your nose at them. 

When Himself died, I used the same approach. "What am I meant to learn from this?" That kept me from despair, along with the solid knowledge that he was released from the frustrations of this world and in Heaven, able to sing in tune and probably swapping woodworking ideas with Jesus. What a happy thought! Yes, I missed him and still do, but knowing I'll see him again, that it's "see you later!" and not "Goodbye" is a comfort beyond measure. But other than that, I'm not entirely sure what, exactly, I'm meant to do/learn with the experience. 

And Grief 2.0 with the passing of Capt, what am I meant to learn? Capt's fishing with Peter now, standing barefoot (he hated shoes) on a sunny beach with Jesus, swapping ideas, probably laughing with Himself over the ridiculous things I've done, rolling their eyes about my flannel shirts and hiking boots. (When's she going to learn to dress like a girl?)  But what am I supposed to do with the stuff I've learned from my relationship with him? I DON'T KNOW (yet).  I'm still working through losing him here. I'm still trying to stop crying every time I talk about him or think about something we did together. I still have to keep tissues handy when I'm writing here. (*sniff)

BUT...thanks to Zechariah, and a plumb bob (actually all about the building of the Temple)...I know God's building something here. Not sure what, yet, but something. And God does good things. He's a master builder. He knows what He's doing even if I don't. It may take my entire life to figure it out. I may never know exactly what He's doing, but that's ok. Does an ox know where the driver is taking him? Nope, he just trusts the driver and plods along. That's me, plodding along, stepping in the mud and grumbling about it, but still plodding. 

Literally OBSESSED

 Ok, I dislike words that are, shall we say, INTENSE, unless the situation genuinely calls for it. Words like literally, horrifically, OBSESSED. That's the adverb du jour...OBSESSED. And it must be said in ALL CAPS because, y'know...OBSESSION is an intense situation. It implies that you're constantly thinking, dwelling on, to the exclusion of doing anything else. It's taking over your LIFE. 

I see ads...Olivia Wilde is OBSESSED with a certain cosmetic serum that makes her look younger (it doesn't, actually...but who am I to argue with a celebrity. We all know they know more than the hoi polloi.) Bless her heart, how does she even work if she's busy thinking about an oily liquid all day?  There's an ad that pops up on my facebook, for these scented laundry pods, and some testimonial says the person is OBSESSED with them. Again, bless his/her heart, that he/she can't function due to a detergent. I see ads and statements all over, of people being OBSESSED with the strangest things...a type of bra, a flavor of coffee, an item of some random and not-very-necessary item. How sad that they can't function because of it.

There's some poor person who can't function because of these things.

See, a while back, the Word Du Jour was HORRIFIC. It was used for all sorts of not-very-horrific situations. I use it for things that are life-altering in a huge way. Even the deaths of Himself and Capt, I wouldn't classify as HORRIFIC. Yes, difficult and unpleasant, but no body parts were mangled, no one went to prison after a long and messy trial (or even a short one...no one went to jail at all.) Lives were altered, to be sure, but not HORRIFICALLY so...just sad and God-directed. I remember a conversation with someone who'd been detained at an airport, taken to a room and questioned, then released. She didn't miss a flight, or lose anything. It was described, by her, as HORRIFIC. When I asked if she'd lost anything major, like her life or passport or a body part, she got kind of huffy. Probably because I didn't sympathize with the ordeal. I've also been detained, separated, and searched. I didn't worry about it since I knew I wasn't carrying contraband 6 ounce jars of chocolate sauce (another story), or questionable batteries in the soles of my shoes. It was more along the lines of "minor inconvenience". She wasn't even an historically oppressed personage. Just a regular ol' white woman like me. Then again, she might have had something embarrassing in her suitcase. Still not HORRIFIC. 

Now, I shall freely admit that, as a straight middle-aged white woman, I am generally not a target demographic for oppression, so I can't speak for the experiences of everyone, and perhaps an airport detention is, for some, a terrifying experience due to the historical treatment of their particular people. In some places, that situation can, indeed, be horrific...a beating, a years-long detention without a trial, the possibility of such is very real for some folks and what a terrible thing to have to think about. I am not trying to minimize that. But I think that by applying the term HORRIFIC to inconveniences and perceived offenses, the very real experiences of many folks, that truly are life-alteringly terrible actually ARE minimized. And THAT, folks, is not a thing that should happen.

I blame the national media. We've become sort of numb to the ways of the world, and that means we aren't paying much attention to what's going on in other places. Our attention needs to be focused so there's a reason for a 24-hour news cycle. All that time needs to be filled with IMPORTANT STUFF. So, let's use more and more severe adjectives and adverbs, let's make skin oil and laundry soap something over which WE MUST OBSESS. Let's make a fender-bender or an embarrassing airport search HORRIFIC. 

Another word is LITERALLY. You'll hear some well-fed young person, who skipped breakfast because they overslept and could only get a 1500 calorie Mocha Fralatte W/Extra Caramel and Double Whip On Top through the drive through, whine about being LITERALLY STARVING so they walk to Panera for a turkey sandwich and tomato soup. Hun, you're not LITERALLY STARVING. Here, let me show you a camp in Sudan. A child in Yemen. In fact, chances are, that person isn't LITERALLY anything except maybe privileged beyond the wildest imagination of a child in Yemen. You don't see LITERALLY much in the mass-media, it's more of a cultural lexicon thing, so I'm not blaming them. I will use LITERALLY appropriately occasionally. As is, "I am LITERALLY annoyed that my coffee maker is misbehaving" or "These boots are LITERALLY the most comfortable things I own" I am NOT, however, LITERALLY OBSESSED with either of those things, nor is the idea of getting up in the morning sans coffee a HORRIFIC situation...although it could be...I guess...for the other person in the household (although that situation isn't a thing anymore.)

 And so you don't think I'm LITERALLY a complete grouch a 'la Walter, here is LITERALLY the easiest fudge recipe I've ever found. Seriously. 

Easy Chocolate Fudge

• 1 14-ounce can of sweetened condensed milk
•  3 cups of chocolate chips, whatever kind. I like Dark
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Mix together everything in a microwave-proof bowl, and zap for 30 seconds at a time, stirring in between, until it's all melted and runny and mixed really well. Pour into a parchment lined 8x8 pan, cover, and refrigerate until firm. (several hours)

Cut into small squares.

You can easily add chopped nuts of whatever variety you like. I like roasted salted pecans. 

The first time I made this I was lazy and just used a bag of chips instead of an entire 3 cups. Still good, but very soft. Don't be like me. Get 2 bags of chips, and reserve the extra for drizzling on top if you feel fancy.

This makes a fairly soft fudge, which can also be rolled into little balls and coated with cocoa powder, toasted nuts or coconut, whatever, then relabeled as truffles, if you want to get super-fancy and make everyone think you're a magician. My next batch I'm going to add a splash of peppermint extract. There's also a coffee extract/flavoring that ok yeah. Mocha truffles. How could that be a bad thing?

If you make truffles, and want to get extra-super fancy, melt a bit more chocolate, sans milk, and after the fudge is rolled into little balls, drizzle the melted chocolate on top and use it to glue a pinch of something- crushed peppermint candies, chopped nuts, or maybe a pinch of coffee grounds- to identify the flavor, especially if the balls are rolled in cocoa powder instead of something indentifyingly obvious (like nuts)

It's the little things

 Capt and I did a lot of big things in our short time together. Travels to places I'd never been, things I'd never done but always wanted to, all these experiences and adventures! I've got some amazing memories now, and pictures to prove them. Isn't it wonderful to be able to look at the things you've done and relive them? Yes it is.

There's a lot of small things too, and those are the ones that daily hugs from him. The Auburn coffee cup he made the HUGE philosophical sacrifice to get. He was a Bama Fan through and through. The warm wrap that matched a dress I liked. Cookbooks. He's everywhere here. I smile, and tear up, and wonder at it. 

Sometimes I get angry, too. Why did this happen? What on EARTH and HEAVEN was God thinking when all this went down? I know He has something in mind, He always does and it's my job to roll with it. I don't like rolling very much. I had to roll when Himself passed away and that was awkward at best, scary too. This time (UGH..."this time") it's not as scary but just as awkward.

I know that You can do all things, and that no purpose of Yours can be thwarted. Job 42:2

I'm doing some things now that we didn't do. I have jar candles that make the house smell like Christmas. Capt had a house burn down once, so he was super cautious about flame things and that meant NO CANDLES. Now I have a gorgeous smelling peppermint one in a deep jar and I'm very careful with it. 

I bake squash for breakfast now. A hot, creamy acorn squash with butter and a touch of molasses is a delicious breakfast. In fact, I eat all sorts of things he eschewed. Mostly vegetables. When we met he was a carnivore w/potatoes. By the time he passed away, he subsisted on nutritional shakes and fruit. If there's steaks in Heaven I'm sure he's enjoying them again. 

But there's still chunks of memories and reminders everywhere, just as there are of Himself. Wow...The 2 of them are suffused through my life and my house. 

They say we are an accumulation of our experiences. I love that these 2 men are part of those. I cherish being surrounded by the love they gave me. I look forward to seeing them both again, and telling them that. 

 He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.                                         Revelation 21:4

Sunsets

 

i have this electronic picture frame screen-thing that I can load photos onto, and it puts the image up in a rotation. Right now, it has sunsets. I love sunsets. But right now, seeing these pictures is (just like most things) making me sad. The pictures were all taken on trips Capt and I made. most of the images are from dive trips out into the Gulf. Fun times, and I was just learning to dive. 

As usual, I started thinking too much. Recalling those trips lead me down the Memory Lane, and I started thinking about trips made with Himself as well. Route 66 in the convertible. yes, we did that. Some of it, anyway. That 3 day weekend into the North Georgia mountains, and as soon as we pulled up to the cabin it started to snow. That was pretty magical. Raising 4 kids together. Meals around the dinner table. We had rules for those...no fussing, no talk about video games. Himself and I weren't allowed to chastise, because we wanted the time around the dinner table to be a safe place to talk about anything, without fear.

Then the trips with Capt. The time he took me to Key West and introduced me to stone crab claws, genuine honest-to-real Key Lime pie, the walks through the town, holding hands and enjoying each other. Getting me to take diving lessons, then underwater, holding onto his arm as we glided along, pointing out tiny interesting things. Working on building the greenhouse, the raised garden beds, planting 36 rose bushes across the front of the house, a palm tree. Driving all the way to Charleston to get a giant bag of oyster shells for landscaping. 

Who am I supposed to share these memories with now? Who, when I'm 70, am I going to talk to, sitting on the front porch drinking coffee in the morning?  

I know. I'm not the first person to ever lose a beloved. People gather their wits and move on. As will I. But, I just wanted someone with whom I could share memories, who could see the things I saw and understand them. 

It's like having a big hole there now, and it really sucks. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of being just fine then getting swatted sideways with a wave of grief.

But, I love the sunsets. God makes them beautiful. The sun has set on 2 relationships, and I'm working on coming to terms with it. I'm not bitter about it, just...y'know. Sad. 

Answered prayers

 There's this kinda charming Christian platitude: "God always hears you, and always answers prayers". I have to admit, that gets on my nerves. Often I want to say "NO HE DOESN'T"  I can think of 2 very specific times I had very specific and (to me) SUPER IMPORTANT prayers I wanted answered in very specific ways. 

Heal my husband(s). 

Twice I've had a husband lying in a hospital bed, and having been told my doctors that, barring a miracle from God, they weren't going to survive, I prayed for the miracle. Oh how I prayed. Lots of other people did as well. There were huge and loud amounts of prayer flinging up toward God's Will, asking for Him to give us those miracles.

And God answered. I thought He said "NO". It sure looked like a big NO to me. I thought healing meant those men would wake up and return to life as I knew it. 

God didn't say NO. God healed them in ways I can't even imagine. He released them from the constant aggravation of being human and flawed and living in a world rife with frustration and pain. God gave a resounding and eternal YES to them. He did indeed answer those huge and loud prayers in ways beyond comprehension.

This is the confidence we having in approaching God: that if we ask anything according to His will, He hears us. And if we know that He hears us- whatever we ask- we know that we have what we asked of him. 1 John 5: 14-15

And the interesting thing is, as their souls left their bodies (I admit I still resent the plurality of that.) I recognized they were healed and was able to thank Him for that. I miss them, I ache for their presences, but I know they're healed and whole, and that's far better than anything I could give them here.

God has given me giant YES's before, of the sort that are undeniably directly from Him. He healed my son, who was supposed to be so badly brain damaged he'd never speak, walk, or get out of bed. Now he's a heavy equipment mechanic, repairing bulldozers and cranes. He said YES, when I said I was lonely and wanted a new love, and dropped Capt into my life. He healed my other sons, came into their lives, and now they are infused with the Holy Spirit and living lives of service to Him. He has provided amply for one who I feared would be homeless. So many answered prayers, so specifically answered and far more generously than I prayed for. I hold onto those answers, to remind me that God provides lovingly and enthusiastically, and in ways beyond my imagination. 

I tell my sons often (particularly when they're seeking a relationship) to remember that true love means you want what's best for that person, even if it isn't you. God truly loves, and provides what's best for His children, even if that provision isn't what I want it to be, because He knows what's best for them. He knew that the best thing for Himself and Capt was to be released from the chains of this world, and most of the time I'm ok with that. Delighted for them, even. (most of the time).

Chrismess pt 2

 When I woke up this morning I thought "hm It's December and all the stuff will be full force. Christmas music (which I used to love but now...hm.) everywhere I turn. 

Have you ever noticed how Christmas music insists you be HAAAPPYYYY all the time! 

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Jingle Bells (Batman smells, Robin laid an egg...that always goes through my mind)

Pick a song, it tells you that you're supposed to be all smiles and bubbles and excited about all the things like snow and eggnog and parties and mess.

I think I'll keep the "radio" (actually, because I'm up on Contemporary Ways, it's XM through the satellite TV because I live out in the boondocks and don't have normal ways) on some instrumental channel run by a Buddhist. If I want a Christmas song I'll hum it to myself.

When you've lost a beloved, whether it's a spouse, a child, a parent, Christmas is TOUGH. Especially that first one. After Himself died, I didn't do Christmas at all. No gifts given, and I didn't want any. I fixed a big meal and called it a day. I used to make the house look like Christmas elves threw up in it. Not a room was left untouched. But the several years after losing Himself....nope. I did get around to putting up a tree a couple of years later but I couldn't bring myself to putting on all the ornaments we'd collected in our travels. Just lights. That was it.

Eventually I restarted with the ornament collection. After I met Capt, I told him what I liked doing and he thought it was a grand idea. So now I have another set to set aside for a while. I am sure eventually I'll feel like putting up a tree and getting out all those small reminders of fun times. But not this year. And that's ok. I've made cookies to give as gifts, and got small things to give to my sons.  I'm ok with that.

I don't think the world should stop just because mine got knocked sideways (AGAIN). I remember thinking, right after both of them died, that it was kind of rude for everything to keep on going as usual for the rest of the world. Couldn't they FEEL the earthquake?  Why are they still breathing, eating, and able to carry on a conversation?? But I know how I am when someone else loses a beloved. My world keeps moving. The difference now is that I really KNOW what they're dealing with, and honestly it brings me to tears, to KNOW how they're hurting and what it feels like. I can honestly pray for their comfort, because I KNOW they need that.

But right now, Christmas is hard. It just IS. Can't nothin' help that except to grin and bear it. I'm keeping to as normal a routine as possible. Wake up, drink coffee, write. Lather, rinse, repeat.  Let the dog out, let the dog back in. Pray for people on my list. Ask God for help through the day. Lather, rinse, repeat. The sameness of the days mean I don't have to think about it too hard. There's a lot that needs doing and I just CAN'T right now. Capt's office...the door stays shut. I'll get to it eventually but not today. The carport. I close my eyes and hurry past. I'll get to it eventually. Not today. No one will suffer if I don't get all those things done. (what the heck am I supposed to do with 1000 fly fishing lures? I don't even know.)

For now, I'll meditate on the miracle of Christ's birth and everything that means to the whole world. It's easier than listening to chronically cheerful music. 

For God so loved the world, He gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life. John 3:16