I have been shoring up the defenses. "The holidays are hard...". Every friend that has recent experience with loss, everyone with one ounce of common sense even, will share that information with me. Not to be mean, just a way of saying they understand, they commiserate, they're there for me. So I prepared. I have stayed busy. I had company. I had the kids around. I cooked. We shopped. Busy, busy, busy. The holiday, Thanksgiving day itself, was great. We had fun. It wasn't until today, with everybody gone again, that the reality, and the realization of what "The holidays are hard" really means.
Dropping nephew Zach at the airport on Saturday was bittersweet. We love that kid. (Not really a kid, but a kid to me!) We'll see him at Christmas, so we said goodbye, and headed on to more busy-ness. The girls crammed in last minute shopping and nails, then spent the last night with their respective friends. The quiet was relaxing. I watched a little TV with kitten Isis on my lap, then went to sleep knowing it was the last night of a full house. Still, I thought I was prepared. The holiday was past, I made it, no breakdowns. I had answered everyone that checked on me. I held my head up, I held grief at bay.
Unfortunately, all my shields can't stop the slow tide of sadness that creeps around the edges and invades my mind and my heart. I noticed the feeling before the girls even woke up. I did the usual, and hid it away. Even my own mom says "she hides it very well....". I can't help it, it's natural. We got the girls fed, packed and ready. Little Isis got in the car, and they were off down the road. One or two tears rolled, but I found things to do.
After I finished a few regular chores, I decided I could at least put up the Christmas tree. We didn't get to that. No decorating, just put together the three pieces of the pre-lit tree. Easy, and a start. I love this tree. I've only had it two years, it's ten feet tall, pre-lit and beautiful. I brought it in, got started, and when I got to the top, the third piece, one whole section of lights was burned out. I unplugged and re-plugged. I changed the fuse. I changed three bulbs and said forget it - I'm going to get a new string of lights and just put it on top of those.
I threw on a decent shirt, put on my shoes and drove to Walgreen's. Two strings of clear lights were left, and one of them was mine. I paid, got in the car and wham - it hit me. I sobbed so hard on the way home I'm surprised I could drive. I kept thinking "This is what everybody told me - the holidays are hard!" It wasn't putting up the tree, it wasn't even the burned-out lights. He would not have fixed the lights - the tree was my domain. The big sadness was having to face and deal with the problem in silence. I would have been able to complain to him. Those burned-out lights actually gave me a bright "light bulb moment" of my own. A huge part of our married life and any family life is that we can complain to each other. And, being married, or being family, you support that other person. I miss the person I could "bitch to". I miss him making fun of me when I complained about silly things. That's why I think the holidays are hard - there are more very happy and very stressful moments than at other times. And sharing those moments is a habit. I had to have a good cry about missing my sounding board. The expected holiday breakdown had arrived, uninvited and unwelcome. It passed when my super-friend made me get up and walk, as we do most nights.
After the walk, I put the new lights around the dark area of the tree. It looks perfect now. What's dark can be made light again. The burned-out bulbs are still underneath the new ones, though. Hopefully they "hide them very well". Bring on Christmas. I'm carrying my tissues.
Showing posts with label sadness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sadness. Show all posts
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Holiday Lessons from the Animal Kingdom - or - Why the Cat Threw Up 11/27/13
The cat threw up already. It's only Wednesday, day BEFORE Thanksgiving, and there's some purging going on around here. Poor Roxy. She's not really purging, you all know cats don't do that, right? But she is suffering a common holiday malady: invasion of space and routine.
I love the holidays. I love time off work, I love seeing family and friends. I'm especially grateful to not only have my precious girls home from college, but nephew Zach visiting as well. We are knitting together a united front against the sadness of missing Scott. We are staying busy, either running around or binge TV-watching. And of course, cooking and eating. So far, so good. And, before you read any further...he is the perfect guest, he's family, I do my thing and don't stress. All reflections in this blog came to me as - yes - Roxy threw up.
Along with the college girls comes Isis, the college kitty. She's about six months old and cute as can be. She's gotten much bigger since leaving here in August. I no longer have to block the spindles on the upstairs overlook for fear that she will wiggle through and fall to the first floor, as she did in July. She has her own opinion about where she wants to go and which other animals she likes. Basically, it's nobody.
Now to be fair, the other animals either hate her or want to play too rough. (55-lb dog vs. six-month-old kitten, you know?) So everybody is walking around all stressed out. Except maybe Gordon, the big dog, he only wants to play! I wish it were easier and faster to say to animals: "You're in this together, now let's be nice to each other!" It occurred to me, just after Roxy lost her breakfast this morning, that the last time she did that was when Isis was here. My cat gets stressed and throws up! I know, gross.
But how different is that from any of us that are hosting or visiting over the holiday, and have our routine interrupted? Do we embrace it or does it just make us a little sick or even ruin our day? I personally embrace change of routine on my terms. For example - yes, I will have kolaches for breakfast one morning, but it's back to the cereal for me after that! I love people being around, having fun, especially if they are the kind of people that I can say "Do your thing, I'm going in here for a while!"
I hope that all my friends and any other readers and find a way to enjoy and celebrate the disruption of routine that comes with holidays on their own terms. My animal friends can't talk with each other and discover that they really don't have to stress. Roxy is growling at Isis as I type this! We can, however, be truthful about our feelings in a considerate way, and make non-routine days work nicely! Whoever you spend your holiday with, you and those people are a united front against the sadness, heartbreak and grief in the world. Laugh together, cry together, gorge on that meal together......Together. And no throwing up. (at least, not from stress!) Happy Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for all of you.
I love the holidays. I love time off work, I love seeing family and friends. I'm especially grateful to not only have my precious girls home from college, but nephew Zach visiting as well. We are knitting together a united front against the sadness of missing Scott. We are staying busy, either running around or binge TV-watching. And of course, cooking and eating. So far, so good. And, before you read any further...he is the perfect guest, he's family, I do my thing and don't stress. All reflections in this blog came to me as - yes - Roxy threw up.
Along with the college girls comes Isis, the college kitty. She's about six months old and cute as can be. She's gotten much bigger since leaving here in August. I no longer have to block the spindles on the upstairs overlook for fear that she will wiggle through and fall to the first floor, as she did in July. She has her own opinion about where she wants to go and which other animals she likes. Basically, it's nobody.
Now to be fair, the other animals either hate her or want to play too rough. (55-lb dog vs. six-month-old kitten, you know?) So everybody is walking around all stressed out. Except maybe Gordon, the big dog, he only wants to play! I wish it were easier and faster to say to animals: "You're in this together, now let's be nice to each other!" It occurred to me, just after Roxy lost her breakfast this morning, that the last time she did that was when Isis was here. My cat gets stressed and throws up! I know, gross.
But how different is that from any of us that are hosting or visiting over the holiday, and have our routine interrupted? Do we embrace it or does it just make us a little sick or even ruin our day? I personally embrace change of routine on my terms. For example - yes, I will have kolaches for breakfast one morning, but it's back to the cereal for me after that! I love people being around, having fun, especially if they are the kind of people that I can say "Do your thing, I'm going in here for a while!"
I hope that all my friends and any other readers and find a way to enjoy and celebrate the disruption of routine that comes with holidays on their own terms. My animal friends can't talk with each other and discover that they really don't have to stress. Roxy is growling at Isis as I type this! We can, however, be truthful about our feelings in a considerate way, and make non-routine days work nicely! Whoever you spend your holiday with, you and those people are a united front against the sadness, heartbreak and grief in the world. Laugh together, cry together, gorge on that meal together......Together. And no throwing up. (at least, not from stress!) Happy Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for all of you.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
I've Had Enough. (The one you have to look to find because I tell the truth) 11/5/13
I've had enough of some people. Stop. Just stop. Don't tell me how to find a man. It will be six months in a couple of days, and my heart still thinks he'll walk through the door. There are so many things for him to do. How am I supposed to know how to contact his Norwegian accountant, much less pay Norwegian taxes? I can see it now - little Norway police arriving at my school, asking for me and arresting me, even though I don't have a dragon tattoo! How much is 629 in Norwegian, anyway?
Work gets in the way. Yes, I've said in other posts that it's my salvation, but sometimes, it feels as it I'm back in the music building. You know, posing as a music major. I always felt that way, because I didn't have that "Ahhhhh!" attitude about all the classical music stuff. I would rather be out eating pizza or kissing on my boyfriend than practicing until 1 a.m. For that I was weird? These days, there are the 1 a.m. people in elementary school. Okay, maybe 7 p.m. But I don't share that desire. That building gets me - all of me - wholeheartedly - (well, I fake that occasionally) - from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. After that, I'm not the music teacher anymore. I'm back to being me. The widow. The single mom. The caretaker of the house/pets/accounts/vehicles/pool/you-name-it-I'm-in-charge-of-it. When I need to locate four particular papers for the accountant, two more for the lawyer, and do a couple of hours of homework for the financial planner, I really feel as if work needs to go away. Is there such thing as widow's leave? There needs to be, and it needs to be the type of leave that can be spread out for when you need it most.
I rant here, and I want attention here. I write because I want people to read this and understand (which you do) and give me an encouraging comment (which you do). I am an attention hog with a blog. Please don't hate me. Let me down gently. At six months of grief, that will be the only gentle thing that happens. Life moves on, and I'm expected to move with it. And I have. At a limp. If you know me, you see it. If you don't know me, I look "so strong". Hell, what else am I supposed to do, stay under the covers for days on end? I wish. I wish my personality allowed me to be a bit more of a delicate flower. Unfortunately, I am not. I would control everything if I could. Only if I physically can't or get absolutely shut down do I not exercise control over a situation. Man, oh man, did death laugh at me. I shouted at it, cried to it, and have sulked behind it for all these months. I don't like you, death.
I don't like a lot of things right now, and one of those things is people that "do it wrong". Thank goodness, there are only a few of those around me, probably because I keep my shield up almost all the time. There I go again, being positive behind a negative, because I can't group punish! Not everybody is bad! I just want to say, bad ones: just shut up. I'm done with you. I will leave the room or I will say "Not talking about that right now, thanks". Or just: (my favorite from England) "Can't". It must be said with a British accent, though. And if I do that, some American might not even know what I'm saying, or might think it's naughty.
If you found this post, know that I'm done. This is hard. I've had to learn a new way of defending myself. Until the insensitive idiots out there can stop, maybe learn, maybe change their demeanor; or at least until they shut up......my armor is on, but I'm now armed, and I might stick it to you a time or two. Someone should.
Work gets in the way. Yes, I've said in other posts that it's my salvation, but sometimes, it feels as it I'm back in the music building. You know, posing as a music major. I always felt that way, because I didn't have that "Ahhhhh!" attitude about all the classical music stuff. I would rather be out eating pizza or kissing on my boyfriend than practicing until 1 a.m. For that I was weird? These days, there are the 1 a.m. people in elementary school. Okay, maybe 7 p.m. But I don't share that desire. That building gets me - all of me - wholeheartedly - (well, I fake that occasionally) - from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. After that, I'm not the music teacher anymore. I'm back to being me. The widow. The single mom. The caretaker of the house/pets/accounts/vehicles/pool/you-name-it-I'm-in-charge-of-it. When I need to locate four particular papers for the accountant, two more for the lawyer, and do a couple of hours of homework for the financial planner, I really feel as if work needs to go away. Is there such thing as widow's leave? There needs to be, and it needs to be the type of leave that can be spread out for when you need it most.
I rant here, and I want attention here. I write because I want people to read this and understand (which you do) and give me an encouraging comment (which you do). I am an attention hog with a blog. Please don't hate me. Let me down gently. At six months of grief, that will be the only gentle thing that happens. Life moves on, and I'm expected to move with it. And I have. At a limp. If you know me, you see it. If you don't know me, I look "so strong". Hell, what else am I supposed to do, stay under the covers for days on end? I wish. I wish my personality allowed me to be a bit more of a delicate flower. Unfortunately, I am not. I would control everything if I could. Only if I physically can't or get absolutely shut down do I not exercise control over a situation. Man, oh man, did death laugh at me. I shouted at it, cried to it, and have sulked behind it for all these months. I don't like you, death.
I don't like a lot of things right now, and one of those things is people that "do it wrong". Thank goodness, there are only a few of those around me, probably because I keep my shield up almost all the time. There I go again, being positive behind a negative, because I can't group punish! Not everybody is bad! I just want to say, bad ones: just shut up. I'm done with you. I will leave the room or I will say "Not talking about that right now, thanks". Or just: (my favorite from England) "Can't". It must be said with a British accent, though. And if I do that, some American might not even know what I'm saying, or might think it's naughty.
If you found this post, know that I'm done. This is hard. I've had to learn a new way of defending myself. Until the insensitive idiots out there can stop, maybe learn, maybe change their demeanor; or at least until they shut up......my armor is on, but I'm now armed, and I might stick it to you a time or two. Someone should.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Accepting Change and Trying Not to Break Things 10/8/13
Roxy-cat fell asleep on my computer keyboard yesterday. She pretty much owns the house, so that isn't a surprise. This is a cat that will smack a 55-lb. dog in the face if he tries to take her place on the couch. She regularly 'yells' at me if I stay gone too long - very loud, prolonged meowing. I've read that she is supposedly vocalizing her love, but it sounds like yelling to me! I think she feels better after she yells at me, like she's had her say, and it helped! She wasn't yelling yesterday, though, she was fast asleep on the keyboard.
The thing is, I wanted to use my computer at that time. She was in my way. So, I did what any good cat lady would do, I picked her up and put her down on the floor beside me! Only.....Roxy didn't want to get up. Is the keyboard of the computer nice and warm? Does it massage? Is she just obstinate? Who knows, the mind of Roxy is mysterious. Because she didn't want to get up, she held on to the keyboard with her claws. The inevitable result? She pulled a key right off. Of course, anyone might say that I pulled the key off by so cruelly lifting the darling from her nap. I noticed that the claw was caught, but the key popped off before I could let her go for relief. I wasn't too worried, I've put keys back on before. They kind of snap back on, easy, right?
I put the key on. I pushed. No snap. I looked at it - Oh! It's not the 9, it's the 6, turn it the other way! No snap. Little white plastic pieces underneath keep slightly moving and not snapping. It's broken. The cat broke the computer key. All because I insisted on pulling her off her spot, and she tried to hang on. Hmmmmm......
I can identify with Roxy. I get really comfortable with certain places, things, people. I'm pretty sure that I'm the kid that cried when I was seven and my mom get a new car. I don't know how I ever left for college....I think just to prove I could do it. I still have favorite t-shirts, blankets, jewelry, mixing bowls.....get the idea? I am huge on tradition and comfort. I pride myself when I can change, move, toss out, rearrange - because I know that doing so is a total challenge to my personality. I really prefer to hang on, just like Roxy.
Who handles change better? The adventurous personality? The rebel? The military kid? That would be a great study. I have learned to handle it because there were other entities forcing the change. I have never really wanted to leave any of my jobs. It just happened. I never really wanted to live so far away from family, it just happened. And I certainly never wanted to end up on my own at this age and stage, it just happened. I'm hanging on with my claws like a stubborn cat right now. I'm not cleaning out rooms in the house, because I want don't want to sell the house. I do know that I have to, and I will....I just don't want to!! (Funny note - we were going to sell it this spring anyway...) So let's just hope I can turn and face change with a winning attitude and pull my claws back in and not break anything. Maybe if I have a place where I can go and yell for a little while, I'll feel better.
The thing is, I wanted to use my computer at that time. She was in my way. So, I did what any good cat lady would do, I picked her up and put her down on the floor beside me! Only.....Roxy didn't want to get up. Is the keyboard of the computer nice and warm? Does it massage? Is she just obstinate? Who knows, the mind of Roxy is mysterious. Because she didn't want to get up, she held on to the keyboard with her claws. The inevitable result? She pulled a key right off. Of course, anyone might say that I pulled the key off by so cruelly lifting the darling from her nap. I noticed that the claw was caught, but the key popped off before I could let her go for relief. I wasn't too worried, I've put keys back on before. They kind of snap back on, easy, right?
I put the key on. I pushed. No snap. I looked at it - Oh! It's not the 9, it's the 6, turn it the other way! No snap. Little white plastic pieces underneath keep slightly moving and not snapping. It's broken. The cat broke the computer key. All because I insisted on pulling her off her spot, and she tried to hang on. Hmmmmm......
I can identify with Roxy. I get really comfortable with certain places, things, people. I'm pretty sure that I'm the kid that cried when I was seven and my mom get a new car. I don't know how I ever left for college....I think just to prove I could do it. I still have favorite t-shirts, blankets, jewelry, mixing bowls.....get the idea? I am huge on tradition and comfort. I pride myself when I can change, move, toss out, rearrange - because I know that doing so is a total challenge to my personality. I really prefer to hang on, just like Roxy.
Who handles change better? The adventurous personality? The rebel? The military kid? That would be a great study. I have learned to handle it because there were other entities forcing the change. I have never really wanted to leave any of my jobs. It just happened. I never really wanted to live so far away from family, it just happened. And I certainly never wanted to end up on my own at this age and stage, it just happened. I'm hanging on with my claws like a stubborn cat right now. I'm not cleaning out rooms in the house, because I want don't want to sell the house. I do know that I have to, and I will....I just don't want to!! (Funny note - we were going to sell it this spring anyway...) So let's just hope I can turn and face change with a winning attitude and pull my claws back in and not break anything. Maybe if I have a place where I can go and yell for a little while, I'll feel better.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
The True Story Behind "Thank God For Makeup". 10/1/13
I cried myself to sleep last night. I felt sad from the moment I left school after the little show. I had been named employee of the week, the choir did well on Saturday, and last night I had directed a successful, cute little show. My district boss thought that the little show idea was great, and praised it. What could have been sad about a day like that? (Besides the obvious, that is...) I wanted to share it. I wanted to tell him. I didn't want to text this person or call that person, I wanted to flop down in my recliner, beside his recliner, and tell him about the day and the evening.
I tried telling the dogs. They don't speak English. They also don't actually take the time to process whether what you are telling them is an accomplishment or a shameful moment, they just jump on the love bandwagon, tails wagging away. I didn't even try telling the cats, their level of 'don't care' surpasses the dog's love.
So I cried. I thought of calling or messaging many people. They're all there for me. The overwhelming thought I had? I will make them sad. I mean, there's no sense in making another person sad on a boring Monday night, right? So if you are one of my people, and you are thinking "I wish she had called me!" I would have, and I thought about it. But because I didn't, you didn't go to sleep sad.
Instead, I cried, slept a couple of hours, woke up, checked the phone, cried a little more, the got rudely awakened by the morning alarm. Going through the morning routine is a bit of a consolation. Another day has arrived, it's time to look it in the face. I put on my makeup, and the song "Tears of a Clown" kept running the my mind. I know, it's about a breakup, most songs are. But I started thinking about how I look with my makeup fresh in the morning. It enhances the 'real me'. No, it doesn't hide every scar and wrinkle...but it helps. It opens my eyes. It enriches my eyebrows and lips. It actually kind of.....magnifies the real me. (Good or bad....) With my makeup, I can still pretend for a bit that I'm in my forties, haha. I also have a feeling, whether it's true or not, that my makeup hides my sadness. When the mascara goes on, my eyes have their happy crinkle. (Crinkle with some wrinkles.) That can disguise the fact that I went to sleep crying because I felt so all alone. Please don't tell me if that's not true. Please allow me this small deception that helps me face each day.
After the makeup application this morning, I felt better. I also wanted to put a cute status on my favorite social networking site. "Cried myself to sleep last night but am much better this morning" did not win. Neither did "Had really cool stuff happen yesterday, but nobody to tell". Or there could have been "Aren't you glad I didn't call and make you sad last night?". Instead, I started thinking about my beautiful makeup job (the song was still there......"my smile is the makeup I wear since my breakup with youuuuuuuuu.......) and I simply wrote "Thank God for makeup". Take it as you will.
The real healing comes when I can finally have an hour or so to sit down and pour this all out through typing fingers. I think that it because I know that nobody HAS to read it, like you would have to answer the phone. You can not read it at all, stop half-way....your choice, just like writing it is my choice. I'm a bit addicted to the writing right now, but it and the makeup serve good purposes for someone in my position. They cover, yet magnify the real thing. Thank you so much for listening, I hope you're not too sad now. If you are, try some new eye-shadow.
I tried telling the dogs. They don't speak English. They also don't actually take the time to process whether what you are telling them is an accomplishment or a shameful moment, they just jump on the love bandwagon, tails wagging away. I didn't even try telling the cats, their level of 'don't care' surpasses the dog's love.
So I cried. I thought of calling or messaging many people. They're all there for me. The overwhelming thought I had? I will make them sad. I mean, there's no sense in making another person sad on a boring Monday night, right? So if you are one of my people, and you are thinking "I wish she had called me!" I would have, and I thought about it. But because I didn't, you didn't go to sleep sad.
Instead, I cried, slept a couple of hours, woke up, checked the phone, cried a little more, the got rudely awakened by the morning alarm. Going through the morning routine is a bit of a consolation. Another day has arrived, it's time to look it in the face. I put on my makeup, and the song "Tears of a Clown" kept running the my mind. I know, it's about a breakup, most songs are. But I started thinking about how I look with my makeup fresh in the morning. It enhances the 'real me'. No, it doesn't hide every scar and wrinkle...but it helps. It opens my eyes. It enriches my eyebrows and lips. It actually kind of.....magnifies the real me. (Good or bad....) With my makeup, I can still pretend for a bit that I'm in my forties, haha. I also have a feeling, whether it's true or not, that my makeup hides my sadness. When the mascara goes on, my eyes have their happy crinkle. (Crinkle with some wrinkles.) That can disguise the fact that I went to sleep crying because I felt so all alone. Please don't tell me if that's not true. Please allow me this small deception that helps me face each day.
After the makeup application this morning, I felt better. I also wanted to put a cute status on my favorite social networking site. "Cried myself to sleep last night but am much better this morning" did not win. Neither did "Had really cool stuff happen yesterday, but nobody to tell". Or there could have been "Aren't you glad I didn't call and make you sad last night?". Instead, I started thinking about my beautiful makeup job (the song was still there......"my smile is the makeup I wear since my breakup with youuuuuuuuu.......) and I simply wrote "Thank God for makeup". Take it as you will.
The real healing comes when I can finally have an hour or so to sit down and pour this all out through typing fingers. I think that it because I know that nobody HAS to read it, like you would have to answer the phone. You can not read it at all, stop half-way....your choice, just like writing it is my choice. I'm a bit addicted to the writing right now, but it and the makeup serve good purposes for someone in my position. They cover, yet magnify the real thing. Thank you so much for listening, I hope you're not too sad now. If you are, try some new eye-shadow.
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Adam Levine is pretty - but just let me look at the sky occasionally 9/21/13
*to Ramona, Christina, Tricia, Meiling and mostly Cathi - thanks for the fun!!
It was a beautiful Thursday night for an outdoor concert. The rain had cleared and brought the temperature down! The crowd was immense. I think every woman and half the men in Houston came out to breathe the same air as Adam Levine. Maroon 5 is a good band. But their front man - he sells more than music. Those magazine covers, shirtless. The always-stylish hair, tattoos, tight clothes. He plays the part of "rock god" to the hilt. Oh yeah, and he can sing.
I got invited by a very sweet friend to go along with a few other ladies. I love concerts, and just by inviting me, she gave me a "thing" to look forward to that could take the place of the other wanderings my mind does these days. Kelly Clarkson and Maroon 5! Big talent! Fun friends! Laughing! Oh yeah - I laugh a lot. Sad people can laugh, too. Things don't stop being funny just because you're sad about something. Sometimes I lead with laughter. Other times, I simply smile because no laughter is inside me. I try to do what looks "normal", even though I'm not normal....yet.
Kelly Clarkson sings a lot of songs about losing boyfriends. I never realized how songs about losing a boyfriend could have so many lyrics that closely mirrored losing a spouse. Never mind "What Doesn't Kill You".... I was still getting my dinner (nachos, yum.....we bluffed our way into the VIP line so we didn't have to wait as long), so that one didn't really reach me. But then there was "Because of You", and "My Life Would Suck Without You". (Of course, my mind changed the second title to "My Life Does Suck Without You.") I sat, listened, and just looked up at the sky when the waves of sadness came. The clouds were beautiful. The moon was to our left. Only two or three stars were visible, sometimes even those ducking behind the clouds. I looked for a bit, then it would pass. Silly songs, silly lyrics, silly middle-aged lady taking them to heart.
After Kelly, the headliners were on stage. I had personally forgotten how many hits they've had over the years - songs that passed through my eardrums into my brain during the time that daughters ruled the car radio. (In my humble opinion, there is still good music being written and recorded today. You just need to look a little harder for it. The fun part about a blog is that it can be my soapbox if I want, it's my blog!) So, back to Adam Levine. I got the general impression that about 80% of the women in the audience would have left the place with him - as well as about 10% of the men. Even all the happily married women would have at least wanted to.....introduce the husband? Have coffee? Show him pics of the kids? He's very magnetic, and a huge cross-section of America wants to adopt him, for one reason or another. The other percentage of the audience were huge fans of the music - like the short, chubby dancing man in front of us. I appreciate and understand the craze about Mr. Levine.....but I felt as if everyone was in a museum with me, going crazy over the impressionists. While I thought they were pretty, I wanted to wander down the hall and look at the Old Masters. I texted my girls at college: "Good concert. Adam Levine is pretty". (Adam, if you read this, Maddy says she's single.)
I am actually writing about this to work through why I feel that I would rather meet Jagger than "Moves Like Jagger". Is it my age? I'm sure that's a big part. But most of all, I just know that I'm still having to look at the sky way too often. I probably don't want to meet Jagger, either. I try to hide it still. On any day, if I seem together and happy and secure - I've probably gotten more bad news. Anymore when bad news comes my way, I seem to deflect it as if I'm wearing some sort of armor.
Is the fact that I don't react immediately, sadly, uncontrollably, falling-apart-to-broken due to strength? No. I've heard that one a lot - "You are so strong." Meant as a compliment, I hope, to tell me that you admire the fact that I'm not in a fetal position on the floor, screaming. But it's not strength that keeps me going. There's nothing strong about sighing while I get ready for work, because the house is so empty. There's nothing strong about hiding behind my smart board to wipe away tears because my choir just broke into "Keep Your Head Up". There's nothing strong about going to an awesome concert with friends and laughing a lot about family, work and life. That's just living. Others may or may not notice when I look at the sky - I don't do it to be noticed, so it's ok if you don't. I just know that it's a measure of how often I have to re-gather myself to continue being normal. So I listen to Kelly Clarkson's amazing voice, appreciate her songs and the honest, funny way she talks to the audience, and I just stop and look at the sky when I have to. And I watch and listen to Adam Levine and Maroon 5, and look at the sky when I have to. After a few thoughts, a few breaths, I look back at the stage, or if I really need to cheer up, the short chubby dancing man. It was a good night, friends. Thank you.
It was a beautiful Thursday night for an outdoor concert. The rain had cleared and brought the temperature down! The crowd was immense. I think every woman and half the men in Houston came out to breathe the same air as Adam Levine. Maroon 5 is a good band. But their front man - he sells more than music. Those magazine covers, shirtless. The always-stylish hair, tattoos, tight clothes. He plays the part of "rock god" to the hilt. Oh yeah, and he can sing.
I got invited by a very sweet friend to go along with a few other ladies. I love concerts, and just by inviting me, she gave me a "thing" to look forward to that could take the place of the other wanderings my mind does these days. Kelly Clarkson and Maroon 5! Big talent! Fun friends! Laughing! Oh yeah - I laugh a lot. Sad people can laugh, too. Things don't stop being funny just because you're sad about something. Sometimes I lead with laughter. Other times, I simply smile because no laughter is inside me. I try to do what looks "normal", even though I'm not normal....yet.
Kelly Clarkson sings a lot of songs about losing boyfriends. I never realized how songs about losing a boyfriend could have so many lyrics that closely mirrored losing a spouse. Never mind "What Doesn't Kill You".... I was still getting my dinner (nachos, yum.....we bluffed our way into the VIP line so we didn't have to wait as long), so that one didn't really reach me. But then there was "Because of You", and "My Life Would Suck Without You". (Of course, my mind changed the second title to "My Life Does Suck Without You.") I sat, listened, and just looked up at the sky when the waves of sadness came. The clouds were beautiful. The moon was to our left. Only two or three stars were visible, sometimes even those ducking behind the clouds. I looked for a bit, then it would pass. Silly songs, silly lyrics, silly middle-aged lady taking them to heart.
After Kelly, the headliners were on stage. I had personally forgotten how many hits they've had over the years - songs that passed through my eardrums into my brain during the time that daughters ruled the car radio. (In my humble opinion, there is still good music being written and recorded today. You just need to look a little harder for it. The fun part about a blog is that it can be my soapbox if I want, it's my blog!) So, back to Adam Levine. I got the general impression that about 80% of the women in the audience would have left the place with him - as well as about 10% of the men. Even all the happily married women would have at least wanted to.....introduce the husband? Have coffee? Show him pics of the kids? He's very magnetic, and a huge cross-section of America wants to adopt him, for one reason or another. The other percentage of the audience were huge fans of the music - like the short, chubby dancing man in front of us. I appreciate and understand the craze about Mr. Levine.....but I felt as if everyone was in a museum with me, going crazy over the impressionists. While I thought they were pretty, I wanted to wander down the hall and look at the Old Masters. I texted my girls at college: "Good concert. Adam Levine is pretty". (Adam, if you read this, Maddy says she's single.)
I am actually writing about this to work through why I feel that I would rather meet Jagger than "Moves Like Jagger". Is it my age? I'm sure that's a big part. But most of all, I just know that I'm still having to look at the sky way too often. I probably don't want to meet Jagger, either. I try to hide it still. On any day, if I seem together and happy and secure - I've probably gotten more bad news. Anymore when bad news comes my way, I seem to deflect it as if I'm wearing some sort of armor.
Is the fact that I don't react immediately, sadly, uncontrollably, falling-apart-to-broken due to strength? No. I've heard that one a lot - "You are so strong." Meant as a compliment, I hope, to tell me that you admire the fact that I'm not in a fetal position on the floor, screaming. But it's not strength that keeps me going. There's nothing strong about sighing while I get ready for work, because the house is so empty. There's nothing strong about hiding behind my smart board to wipe away tears because my choir just broke into "Keep Your Head Up". There's nothing strong about going to an awesome concert with friends and laughing a lot about family, work and life. That's just living. Others may or may not notice when I look at the sky - I don't do it to be noticed, so it's ok if you don't. I just know that it's a measure of how often I have to re-gather myself to continue being normal. So I listen to Kelly Clarkson's amazing voice, appreciate her songs and the honest, funny way she talks to the audience, and I just stop and look at the sky when I have to. And I watch and listen to Adam Levine and Maroon 5, and look at the sky when I have to. After a few thoughts, a few breaths, I look back at the stage, or if I really need to cheer up, the short chubby dancing man. It was a good night, friends. Thank you.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Scary Movies Aren't As Scary As Life 9/15/13
I just saw "Insidious, Chapter 2". If you know me, this is not surprising, you know that I love scary movies. When I saw the original "Insidious", I proclaimed it one of the best scary movies I'd seen in a long time. I even bought the DVD, which is not a habit of mine, as it is with some people. Today, I enjoyed the sequel, but not as much as the first. Is this because it's not quite as good, or because of my reality?
Scary movies want to make us afraid of ghosts, 'spirits', beings that are stuck in the afterlife because of some evil reason or another. I happen to know that there is no such thing, and what is left behind is much more difficult to manage simply because we are left alone to handle things.
I sit writing this with a box fan blowing into my 'office', because the air conditioner needs repair. It's leaking Freon in the attic portion, so they have to replace all those workings. I have reserved the pretty penny that it will cost, scheduled the work and requested my day off. These are all the responsibilities of the sole adult that owns the house. In one scene of the movie today, the ghost punched the woman in the face. I might have preferred that horror to the stress and cost of getting the a/c repaired.
This past Friday, I sold the dirt bike that he had left sitting in the garage. I knew what he had paid for it, and ended up taking a bit less, just to get rid of it. I didn't envision him sitting on it, or trying to start it - like the movie with its visions of a person long gone sitting on the bed. I just saw the bike, the space it's been taking up in the garage, the hope I had that it would start for the potential buyers after four months, and the dust and cobwebs that clung to it. Start it finally did, and after the exchange of cash, the bike was theirs. Of course, I typed out a receipt, one for them, one for me, because I could hear him saying "Make sure you give a receipt, I've see too many 'People's Court' episodes where stupid people didn't get anything in writing....." All right, I didn't envision anything, but boy, could I hear his words in my brain. That's not scary, though. That is comforting.
I am one person at home now - with three cars to choose from. I do intend to sell them and upgrade to something newer, and therefore (in theory) more dependable. One needs a new water pump, knock sensor, and catalytic converter. One just got a new water pump, but has a funny clank that I can't get it to make for the mechanic. The third is in decent shape, it's just ten years old! Now, I'll admit, we've been very spoiled as far a vehicles go - Scott could fix almost anything, therefore we got older, but more top-of the-line when we purchased. Having to sell and buy cars by myself is more of a nightmare than seeing a shadow face in the window. That's scary, but only for a minute. My fears these days are eroding me like water did the Grand Canyon.
Sometimes, there's just sadness. In the movie today, there was someone that was extremely mean and evil toward a child. Sadness. My heart breaks and prays for mistreated children on a daily basis. In my house today, I called little Marylebone, the Scottie, up to sit with me for a bit. I scratched him, then stopped.......he nosed my hand up for more. After a good five-minute scratching session, I realized that his dad is gone, his girls are gone, and I'm the only one left to pet a scratch him on a daily basis. I will say every now and then, I get help with this from my favorite fifth-grader Riley. Still, the thought that anyone, even the creatures, would not get enough attention from me because of all the responsibilities I now have is just plain sad.
Then again, there is the example of Riley. We took her to the scary movie today. Her mom carefully scanned the reviews and deemed it appropriate. We promised her she could sit between us. As it came time to go in, her nerves almost seemed to get the better of her - slowing her step and clutching her tummy. We encouraged and joked and promised that it wouldn't be that bad. She got settled, legs tucked up so she could turn and hide her face in her mom's arm, and the movie started. After a few 'jumps' and 'scares', her reaction turned from hiding her face to laughing nervously. It was very cute, her mom and I are famous for laughing in scary or serious movies, we find it takes away the intensity. Ok, maybe we annoy some people around us, but it can't be helped! Riley's laughter under stress was a reminder to me. The things I have going on at present may be scary, sad, stressful....but there's usually a little laughter in each day. And after a good laugh, you take a deep breath....and just keep going. Remember how I said Riley was nervous going in to the movie? On the way out, she was practically bouncing as she walked, and said "I'm so glad I went to see that!" I hope I can take things in stride like that and keep going. What an example. Take that, scary stuff.
Scary movies want to make us afraid of ghosts, 'spirits', beings that are stuck in the afterlife because of some evil reason or another. I happen to know that there is no such thing, and what is left behind is much more difficult to manage simply because we are left alone to handle things.
I sit writing this with a box fan blowing into my 'office', because the air conditioner needs repair. It's leaking Freon in the attic portion, so they have to replace all those workings. I have reserved the pretty penny that it will cost, scheduled the work and requested my day off. These are all the responsibilities of the sole adult that owns the house. In one scene of the movie today, the ghost punched the woman in the face. I might have preferred that horror to the stress and cost of getting the a/c repaired.
This past Friday, I sold the dirt bike that he had left sitting in the garage. I knew what he had paid for it, and ended up taking a bit less, just to get rid of it. I didn't envision him sitting on it, or trying to start it - like the movie with its visions of a person long gone sitting on the bed. I just saw the bike, the space it's been taking up in the garage, the hope I had that it would start for the potential buyers after four months, and the dust and cobwebs that clung to it. Start it finally did, and after the exchange of cash, the bike was theirs. Of course, I typed out a receipt, one for them, one for me, because I could hear him saying "Make sure you give a receipt, I've see too many 'People's Court' episodes where stupid people didn't get anything in writing....." All right, I didn't envision anything, but boy, could I hear his words in my brain. That's not scary, though. That is comforting.
I am one person at home now - with three cars to choose from. I do intend to sell them and upgrade to something newer, and therefore (in theory) more dependable. One needs a new water pump, knock sensor, and catalytic converter. One just got a new water pump, but has a funny clank that I can't get it to make for the mechanic. The third is in decent shape, it's just ten years old! Now, I'll admit, we've been very spoiled as far a vehicles go - Scott could fix almost anything, therefore we got older, but more top-of the-line when we purchased. Having to sell and buy cars by myself is more of a nightmare than seeing a shadow face in the window. That's scary, but only for a minute. My fears these days are eroding me like water did the Grand Canyon.
Sometimes, there's just sadness. In the movie today, there was someone that was extremely mean and evil toward a child. Sadness. My heart breaks and prays for mistreated children on a daily basis. In my house today, I called little Marylebone, the Scottie, up to sit with me for a bit. I scratched him, then stopped.......he nosed my hand up for more. After a good five-minute scratching session, I realized that his dad is gone, his girls are gone, and I'm the only one left to pet a scratch him on a daily basis. I will say every now and then, I get help with this from my favorite fifth-grader Riley. Still, the thought that anyone, even the creatures, would not get enough attention from me because of all the responsibilities I now have is just plain sad.
Then again, there is the example of Riley. We took her to the scary movie today. Her mom carefully scanned the reviews and deemed it appropriate. We promised her she could sit between us. As it came time to go in, her nerves almost seemed to get the better of her - slowing her step and clutching her tummy. We encouraged and joked and promised that it wouldn't be that bad. She got settled, legs tucked up so she could turn and hide her face in her mom's arm, and the movie started. After a few 'jumps' and 'scares', her reaction turned from hiding her face to laughing nervously. It was very cute, her mom and I are famous for laughing in scary or serious movies, we find it takes away the intensity. Ok, maybe we annoy some people around us, but it can't be helped! Riley's laughter under stress was a reminder to me. The things I have going on at present may be scary, sad, stressful....but there's usually a little laughter in each day. And after a good laugh, you take a deep breath....and just keep going. Remember how I said Riley was nervous going in to the movie? On the way out, she was practically bouncing as she walked, and said "I'm so glad I went to see that!" I hope I can take things in stride like that and keep going. What an example. Take that, scary stuff.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
A Twist of the Knife 9/8/13
I feel numb. Maria, the girl I lived with in the dorm for four years - lost HER husband last night. Her text to me started with "I've joined your club." Ouch. This is not a sought-out membership. I don't even know yet what happened. Everyone is curious. When someone dies, and they're in their fifties, and haven't been sick, everyone wants to know what happened. I do too, I just have other feelings that are right up there with the curiosity. I feel the same numbness, the same feeling of the world stopping, the same lost feeling that followed me home from the hospital on that night four months ago. When death happens, those of us that always have an answer, that always figure out a way to fix things, that always try to make things work better; we are struck dumb. There is no way to make it better. There is no magic word, pill, book, way of talking, exercise, food.....nothing can change death.
Maria is a smart woman. She is the kind of person I like to associate myself with; sensible, knowledgeable about tools, engines, minor repairs, fun, kind, with a strong devotion to family and friends. She's not a weak person. I like to think that the above description fits me, also. (Maybe I'm just flattering myself, too.) But this is why I hate to see her "join the club". It doesn't really fit that well on us, 'widowhood'. We were little girls that dreamed of wedding dresses, teenage girls that saw our parents stick with it, college girls with a plan to find a man. We envisioned marriage with houses, pets, children....and we both got it. When we met, I was seventeen, she was already eighteen. We were kids just thrown together by some random roommate fairy. It worked. We got along. When we graduated, she was twenty-two and headed back to Atlanta for a job, I was twenty-one and headed to the altar with Scott.
Maria wore the lovely shiny lavender bridesmaid's dress in my wedding. I wore the absolutely beautiful black bridesmaid's dress at her wedding. (To this day, the prettiest wedding photos I have ever seen.) She came to visit after Mallory was born, to see our first baby girl. Not long after, she had baby girls of her own. Even when we lived in England, Maria would come see us when we visited Scott's parents. The kids were growing fast, and all of us worked and were busy with life. It didn't matter how much time passed, though; Maria is a forever friend. Whenever we did get the chance to talk, we didn't hold back. And, being a forever friend, she was there this past June when we said goodbye to Scott with a service in Florida. Maria and Tamre' - the other best college friend - drove in the night before the service and had dinner with the family. Then we went back to Tamre's room. Within minutes, it was just as if we were in the dorm room together. Only the discussions were about husbands, the loss of mine, nearly-grown children, aging parents, taking care of ourselves and the need for reading glasses. I appreciate them being there for me so much. Maria was there at the start of my journey with Scott and she was there to mourn/celebrate the end.
Then, that text. Almost four months to the day of not being able to wake my husband from his nap due to a heart attack, Maria's husband falls over while mowing the grass, due to a heart attack. My Scott was fifty-two. Doug was fifty-three. Maria and I are both moms left with two girls. What a club. I told her that if she wanted me at his services, just say the word. She said let's get together later, she knows I've traveled too much lately. I can't wait to plan a weekend outside Atlanta. Let's call it a club meeting. I don't want to invite anybody else. Here's hoping that the rest of you little girls that dreamed happily-ever-after are continuing to live it. When part of it is gone, the bad part is that it's still ever-after, just not so happily.
Maria is a smart woman. She is the kind of person I like to associate myself with; sensible, knowledgeable about tools, engines, minor repairs, fun, kind, with a strong devotion to family and friends. She's not a weak person. I like to think that the above description fits me, also. (Maybe I'm just flattering myself, too.) But this is why I hate to see her "join the club". It doesn't really fit that well on us, 'widowhood'. We were little girls that dreamed of wedding dresses, teenage girls that saw our parents stick with it, college girls with a plan to find a man. We envisioned marriage with houses, pets, children....and we both got it. When we met, I was seventeen, she was already eighteen. We were kids just thrown together by some random roommate fairy. It worked. We got along. When we graduated, she was twenty-two and headed back to Atlanta for a job, I was twenty-one and headed to the altar with Scott.
Maria wore the lovely shiny lavender bridesmaid's dress in my wedding. I wore the absolutely beautiful black bridesmaid's dress at her wedding. (To this day, the prettiest wedding photos I have ever seen.) She came to visit after Mallory was born, to see our first baby girl. Not long after, she had baby girls of her own. Even when we lived in England, Maria would come see us when we visited Scott's parents. The kids were growing fast, and all of us worked and were busy with life. It didn't matter how much time passed, though; Maria is a forever friend. Whenever we did get the chance to talk, we didn't hold back. And, being a forever friend, she was there this past June when we said goodbye to Scott with a service in Florida. Maria and Tamre' - the other best college friend - drove in the night before the service and had dinner with the family. Then we went back to Tamre's room. Within minutes, it was just as if we were in the dorm room together. Only the discussions were about husbands, the loss of mine, nearly-grown children, aging parents, taking care of ourselves and the need for reading glasses. I appreciate them being there for me so much. Maria was there at the start of my journey with Scott and she was there to mourn/celebrate the end.
Then, that text. Almost four months to the day of not being able to wake my husband from his nap due to a heart attack, Maria's husband falls over while mowing the grass, due to a heart attack. My Scott was fifty-two. Doug was fifty-three. Maria and I are both moms left with two girls. What a club. I told her that if she wanted me at his services, just say the word. She said let's get together later, she knows I've traveled too much lately. I can't wait to plan a weekend outside Atlanta. Let's call it a club meeting. I don't want to invite anybody else. Here's hoping that the rest of you little girls that dreamed happily-ever-after are continuing to live it. When part of it is gone, the bad part is that it's still ever-after, just not so happily.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
There's Me, then there's (me) - a Squirrel-Fur Story 8/31/13
The first week of school is over. The routine has set in. The big kids have already learned some stuff (ha ha, gotcha!), and more and more of the babies are opening their mouths and singing with me every day. Here we go. That's Me. I will forever, though, equate this first week with the things I've had to do concerning probate, real estate, life insurance, and being the single parent. That is (me). There are barriers there. I'm not going to share that information with everybody out there. Yes, it may seem that I tell you a detail or two, but none of it chips the surface of the reality I'm living.
There is squirrel fur on the bedroom floor right now. Just a couple clumps, but that's enough to make me think that some squirrel left it behind on someone's paw as it ran and HID in my bedroom somewhere. I found a dead squirrel out back on Thursday morning - very possible that one animal or another brought the dead one's brother in the house! This is the kind of thing I do share. Amusing anecdotes. Enjoyable escapades. Hilarious happenings. (Alliteration kick courtesy of my favorite fifth grader, Riley!) I shall probably search for above-mentioned squirrel before I finish writing this today. That's my 'story of the day'. Unfortunately, there's a LOT more that goes untold.
Almost every day this week, there was an untold story, deed, issue. I can share a few of them here, but some I just only tell certain people. Me is an open house, but (me) is a locked closet. I know, everyone is that way, it just seems magnified to me now that I'm dealing with the aftermath of death.
College girl's laptop broke right before she headed off to school. Less than a year old, I knew it was still under warranty. I had to deal with having tech support help me on the phone, then reporting to them that it still didn't work, getting an RMA number, shipping it off, etc. Not that difficult, but computers were his department. I think every married couple, especially parents, have certain "departments". Laundry, paying bills, house décor, children and animal health - those were some of my departments. Computers, TVs, pool chemicals, cars, yard, insurance - those were some of his. Having to step in and run the other department is sometimes difficult because it is new territory, but always difficult because I'm only doing this because he's gone. I'm proud to say the freshly-repaired-under-warranty laptop arrived yesterday. Success in one new territory.
If only every little task that dealt with the aftermath felt like success. Who is really worried whether or not I remember to take the right paperwork to school with me so that I can stop by the lawyer's office after a long day and let them make copies of the appropriate papers for probate court? Who really cares that I answer the personal e-mails that still arrive in his inbox, giving them the sad news and telling them I will tie up all the loose ends and keep in touch? With each thing I do, however, I share my accomplishment with one of the people that get to know (me). My family, my best friends, sometimes a special friend at work.....but not everyone. Even the examples in this writing are not the ones that I consider the "big issues", - the ones that send me to my car or my chair at home sobbing.
So it's not for everyone to know every piece of business. I'd rather talk to you about how good the kids are this week (general consensus - they're tired!), or what was for dinner last night, or how cold it is in my classroom, and why can't I remember to bring my sweater to school?.....all of that is Me. What you might not realize is that (me) is sitting there eating lunch, and because of the cold room and the soap from just washing my hands, I was able to slip off the wedding band for the first time in many years. My finger was a size 6 in 1984. It's not anymore. Nevertheless, I worked it off. I didn't tell anyone, just put it on my pinky. It's not that I'm ready to be without it - I still have the diamonds on. I'm just scared if I put it back on, it would have to be cut off one of these days. Or maybe I am trying to give myself reminders that all departments belong to me now, and I can do it! I'm not ready to look unmarried, I'm just trying to do a good job at being the only one that takes care of everything. Talk about a sad story, a forlorn fable, a depressing drama. That's why I only let most people see Me, not (me). I can do this with help - special friends that give me pens, dinner, chocolate cake, anonymous cards - these gestures let me know there are others that understand (me), and even have a (me) themselves.
Me can finish out this part of the story for you: I called my friend to come over and help hunt the squirrel. My friend took one look at the fur and said "That looks like your hair, are you sure none of the pets got hold of a hairbrush or something?" I said no, and kept looking. After about five minutes of looking and talking, the answer dawned on me. "There is no squirrel!" I exclaimed. I knew the answer. I took a phone pic of silly Roxy-cat sitting on top of the wardrobe. The vacuum was in the corner in the pic. I moved the vacuum and took another pic, then put it back. (Lord knows we can't have a vacuum in our picture, it just wouldn't look proper, would it?) The last time I vacuumed, it was when my girls and I got our hair cut at the house. Sure enough, that multi-colored clump of hair that I thought was straight from a squirrel's tail was actually a mix of our reddish-brown, brown and caramel highlights hair scraps, freeing themselves from the evil beater brush of the Shark. I'm not hiding anything about the squirrel-fur story. That made me laugh today. I will choose to focus on those types of things. Here's hoping the laughter will at least help (me) keep my balance. Love, Me.
There is squirrel fur on the bedroom floor right now. Just a couple clumps, but that's enough to make me think that some squirrel left it behind on someone's paw as it ran and HID in my bedroom somewhere. I found a dead squirrel out back on Thursday morning - very possible that one animal or another brought the dead one's brother in the house! This is the kind of thing I do share. Amusing anecdotes. Enjoyable escapades. Hilarious happenings. (Alliteration kick courtesy of my favorite fifth grader, Riley!) I shall probably search for above-mentioned squirrel before I finish writing this today. That's my 'story of the day'. Unfortunately, there's a LOT more that goes untold.
Almost every day this week, there was an untold story, deed, issue. I can share a few of them here, but some I just only tell certain people. Me is an open house, but (me) is a locked closet. I know, everyone is that way, it just seems magnified to me now that I'm dealing with the aftermath of death.
College girl's laptop broke right before she headed off to school. Less than a year old, I knew it was still under warranty. I had to deal with having tech support help me on the phone, then reporting to them that it still didn't work, getting an RMA number, shipping it off, etc. Not that difficult, but computers were his department. I think every married couple, especially parents, have certain "departments". Laundry, paying bills, house décor, children and animal health - those were some of my departments. Computers, TVs, pool chemicals, cars, yard, insurance - those were some of his. Having to step in and run the other department is sometimes difficult because it is new territory, but always difficult because I'm only doing this because he's gone. I'm proud to say the freshly-repaired-under-warranty laptop arrived yesterday. Success in one new territory.
If only every little task that dealt with the aftermath felt like success. Who is really worried whether or not I remember to take the right paperwork to school with me so that I can stop by the lawyer's office after a long day and let them make copies of the appropriate papers for probate court? Who really cares that I answer the personal e-mails that still arrive in his inbox, giving them the sad news and telling them I will tie up all the loose ends and keep in touch? With each thing I do, however, I share my accomplishment with one of the people that get to know (me). My family, my best friends, sometimes a special friend at work.....but not everyone. Even the examples in this writing are not the ones that I consider the "big issues", - the ones that send me to my car or my chair at home sobbing.
So it's not for everyone to know every piece of business. I'd rather talk to you about how good the kids are this week (general consensus - they're tired!), or what was for dinner last night, or how cold it is in my classroom, and why can't I remember to bring my sweater to school?.....all of that is Me. What you might not realize is that (me) is sitting there eating lunch, and because of the cold room and the soap from just washing my hands, I was able to slip off the wedding band for the first time in many years. My finger was a size 6 in 1984. It's not anymore. Nevertheless, I worked it off. I didn't tell anyone, just put it on my pinky. It's not that I'm ready to be without it - I still have the diamonds on. I'm just scared if I put it back on, it would have to be cut off one of these days. Or maybe I am trying to give myself reminders that all departments belong to me now, and I can do it! I'm not ready to look unmarried, I'm just trying to do a good job at being the only one that takes care of everything. Talk about a sad story, a forlorn fable, a depressing drama. That's why I only let most people see Me, not (me). I can do this with help - special friends that give me pens, dinner, chocolate cake, anonymous cards - these gestures let me know there are others that understand (me), and even have a (me) themselves.
Me can finish out this part of the story for you: I called my friend to come over and help hunt the squirrel. My friend took one look at the fur and said "That looks like your hair, are you sure none of the pets got hold of a hairbrush or something?" I said no, and kept looking. After about five minutes of looking and talking, the answer dawned on me. "There is no squirrel!" I exclaimed. I knew the answer. I took a phone pic of silly Roxy-cat sitting on top of the wardrobe. The vacuum was in the corner in the pic. I moved the vacuum and took another pic, then put it back. (Lord knows we can't have a vacuum in our picture, it just wouldn't look proper, would it?) The last time I vacuumed, it was when my girls and I got our hair cut at the house. Sure enough, that multi-colored clump of hair that I thought was straight from a squirrel's tail was actually a mix of our reddish-brown, brown and caramel highlights hair scraps, freeing themselves from the evil beater brush of the Shark. I'm not hiding anything about the squirrel-fur story. That made me laugh today. I will choose to focus on those types of things. Here's hoping the laughter will at least help (me) keep my balance. Love, Me.
Monday, August 12, 2013
Only One First 8/12/13
We drove about 800 miles this summer with a kitten in the car. My sister found her abandoned in Florida while we were visiting. My girls had planned on adopting a kitten for their college apartment. It was a match made in heaven. "Isis", of the long tail. pointy ears, and pointy nose, has been walking, running, leaping joy in our house this summer. Joy helps put a little ointment on grief occasionally, so I think it was meant to be. Isis was a tiny baby kitten during this car trip, six weeks old at the most. We all cooed and baby-talked to her. Near the end of the trip, Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" came on the radio. I said "Awwww, it's Isis' first Bohemian Rhapsody.". We laughed - every tiny thing that happened to that new little creature could be a "first".
I, on the other hand, am not young, cute, new, or full of joy. Yet my new situation, I learned this weekend, will hold a lot of 'firsts'. And nobody will say "Awwwww!" These firsts for me are difficult, as they are the first time I will handle a situation without the amazing wisdom and insight of the man I trusted with my life. I am brave, and I like to think that a little of his wisdom and insight rubbed off on me during our years together. I research and calculate and figure and plan. The only problem is......there's no ratings, research, or math that can measure emotional cost.
My first this past weekend was buying a car for my daughter. We need to upgrade all of our older vehicles, as the person that could repair them and keep them running for us is gone. With my girls driving to college five hundred miles away, I need them in dependable cars. We had sacrificed a lot of dependability with no qualms about doing so, as Scott enjoyed keeping the cars running and could perform 95% of all repairs. Since that resource is no longer available, I have to step up and make sure all three of us are in good shape in the automotive department. With four cars to sell to upgrade three people, I saw it as an easy task.
It is easy to find ratings and rankings on vehicle dependability. It is easy to find the "right" price that you should pay. It is easy for my youngest daughter to be very specific about what she does - and doesn't- want in a vehicle. Then, to make it easier, I do have a very dear friend in the car business. They still made a profit on me, but I felt comfortable with the margin. I did have to make a trip to the location where my friend worked, but it was a bonus to spend a weekend with another very dear friend.
I was prepared. Money, insurance, proof of id, extra driver, (lots of dear friends helped with this enterprise!), a pen to sign my name over and over, and my phone fully charged to check Facebook and crush some candies. Dear friends dropped me at the dealership, where I got to work. It should be a breeze, right? I had already done all the research! First things first, I had to inspect it (having chosen it online), and then drive it. The sensibility of doing these things before signing and paying made total sense. I approved the car, gave the green light, and was seated at a desk.
Thank goodness for the phone! It evidently takes a long time to get all the paperwork together. I had to fill out one short form, and then just sit. I did enjoy the family with two little boys at the next desk. They were so young, so cute, and didn't care a hoot about the car Mom and Dad were buying! After so many Facebook checks, and so many tries at a certain level of Candy Crush, I was ushered into a business office. Then, the next question threw me.
Did I want to add a complete warranty? (OF COURSE!! THIS IS FOR MY CHILD!!) It would only cost x amount of dollars to do so, and it's a great idea! Whoa.........that's x more than the number in my well-planned, well-rehearsed script! Oh no! Who can I ask? I sent mind-messages to the person that would have advised me on this, hoping for some kind of vibe, positive feeling, big red stop sign, anything.....all the while, smiling, frowning and tearing up. When will I learn to carry tissues? Thank goodness, dear friend came in (maybe that was the positive sign?) and talked me through the decision, reassured me which choice was best, and I committed. All by myself.
That's it! Write it up! Pay the total! Accept the keys and drive my baby's car back to dear friend's house. That sounds easy. Only I know that I alternately talked to the sky and sobbed all the way back. I did manage to have some fun on the weekend trip, but I also took some naps and nursed a headache. I realized after I performed this great feat that I had done a "first". It was not fun, and none of the firsts that are yet to come will be either. The only way to get them to not be a "first" is to do them once. They may sound the same after that, but at least I will know the huge part of the lesson that I learned this past weekend: In all the research and preparation, don't forget to count the emotional cost, and prepare for it as well. It's a bold print-type cost and you can't hide from it.
Maybe there will be a post on buying the next upgraded vehicle - after I sell a couple to finance that endeavor. I hope that it will sound and feel pretty much the same, and I'll know what to expect. You can ask little Isis the kitten if that's true. You see, on the way home from getting her kitten shots at the vet about a week ago, "Bohemian Rhapsody" came on the radio again. I was just able to turn to that baby kitty and say "'Member this?" There's only one first, after that I should know all the costs involved, literal or emotional.
I, on the other hand, am not young, cute, new, or full of joy. Yet my new situation, I learned this weekend, will hold a lot of 'firsts'. And nobody will say "Awwwww!" These firsts for me are difficult, as they are the first time I will handle a situation without the amazing wisdom and insight of the man I trusted with my life. I am brave, and I like to think that a little of his wisdom and insight rubbed off on me during our years together. I research and calculate and figure and plan. The only problem is......there's no ratings, research, or math that can measure emotional cost.
My first this past weekend was buying a car for my daughter. We need to upgrade all of our older vehicles, as the person that could repair them and keep them running for us is gone. With my girls driving to college five hundred miles away, I need them in dependable cars. We had sacrificed a lot of dependability with no qualms about doing so, as Scott enjoyed keeping the cars running and could perform 95% of all repairs. Since that resource is no longer available, I have to step up and make sure all three of us are in good shape in the automotive department. With four cars to sell to upgrade three people, I saw it as an easy task.
It is easy to find ratings and rankings on vehicle dependability. It is easy to find the "right" price that you should pay. It is easy for my youngest daughter to be very specific about what she does - and doesn't- want in a vehicle. Then, to make it easier, I do have a very dear friend in the car business. They still made a profit on me, but I felt comfortable with the margin. I did have to make a trip to the location where my friend worked, but it was a bonus to spend a weekend with another very dear friend.
I was prepared. Money, insurance, proof of id, extra driver, (lots of dear friends helped with this enterprise!), a pen to sign my name over and over, and my phone fully charged to check Facebook and crush some candies. Dear friends dropped me at the dealership, where I got to work. It should be a breeze, right? I had already done all the research! First things first, I had to inspect it (having chosen it online), and then drive it. The sensibility of doing these things before signing and paying made total sense. I approved the car, gave the green light, and was seated at a desk.
Thank goodness for the phone! It evidently takes a long time to get all the paperwork together. I had to fill out one short form, and then just sit. I did enjoy the family with two little boys at the next desk. They were so young, so cute, and didn't care a hoot about the car Mom and Dad were buying! After so many Facebook checks, and so many tries at a certain level of Candy Crush, I was ushered into a business office. Then, the next question threw me.
Did I want to add a complete warranty? (OF COURSE!! THIS IS FOR MY CHILD!!) It would only cost x amount of dollars to do so, and it's a great idea! Whoa.........that's x more than the number in my well-planned, well-rehearsed script! Oh no! Who can I ask? I sent mind-messages to the person that would have advised me on this, hoping for some kind of vibe, positive feeling, big red stop sign, anything.....all the while, smiling, frowning and tearing up. When will I learn to carry tissues? Thank goodness, dear friend came in (maybe that was the positive sign?) and talked me through the decision, reassured me which choice was best, and I committed. All by myself.
That's it! Write it up! Pay the total! Accept the keys and drive my baby's car back to dear friend's house. That sounds easy. Only I know that I alternately talked to the sky and sobbed all the way back. I did manage to have some fun on the weekend trip, but I also took some naps and nursed a headache. I realized after I performed this great feat that I had done a "first". It was not fun, and none of the firsts that are yet to come will be either. The only way to get them to not be a "first" is to do them once. They may sound the same after that, but at least I will know the huge part of the lesson that I learned this past weekend: In all the research and preparation, don't forget to count the emotional cost, and prepare for it as well. It's a bold print-type cost and you can't hide from it.
Maybe there will be a post on buying the next upgraded vehicle - after I sell a couple to finance that endeavor. I hope that it will sound and feel pretty much the same, and I'll know what to expect. You can ask little Isis the kitten if that's true. You see, on the way home from getting her kitten shots at the vet about a week ago, "Bohemian Rhapsody" came on the radio again. I was just able to turn to that baby kitty and say "'Member this?" There's only one first, after that I should know all the costs involved, literal or emotional.
Friday, August 2, 2013
If I Could Return This, Please - Another View of Grief 8/2/13
I'd like to return this item, please. A couple of months ago, I was given this device. It works by randomly shaking up my emotions and super-intensifying the one it lands on. I have always been fairly happy and even-tempered with the occasional flare-up of anger or sadness. It's a smooth path in life, and quite enjoyable. I did not give it up willingly. This device, this "grief magnometer", has taken over my thoughts, feelings, opinions, and actions. It's a dictator with one agenda; to keep me feeling the opposite of how I used to.
Let's talk about sadness. I have always cried at commercials, animal stories, my own and my family's hurt feelings, and especially when tragedy happened in other families. It rarely cut me inside with knives like the sadness from the grief magnometer. This device knows how to read when I am performing a simple task, like putting on makeup, washing dishes, starting the car....and then it attacks. It uses triggers that I didn't even know existed to bring on the memories, followed by the trembling lip and tears rolling from the eyes. If I could change the setting, I would have it schedule an appropriate time for sadness and a good cry, then I could carry on with the day. (Holly Hunter did that brilliantly in a scene from "Broadcast News", by the way. Check it out.)
The magnometer also knows how to scare me. I am sensible and smart. I have made plans to live without my husband's salary. He loved us so much, and left us in good shape for the future. But this crazy grief-device unleashes feelings of being afraid if we happen to spend thirty-five dollars on something, or if one of the cars makes a funny noise, or I see a bit of peeling paint out on the porch. I usually take charge and fix things - fix them myself if I can. But this new feelings device forces me to sit, stare, shake, cry a bit, (whine a bit) and even talk of giving up. Thank goodness for family and friends that talk me through these situations and encourage me to be my old self and handle them. This device is just plain old mean!
Speaking of mean.....that is one word that has never really described me. I'm sure I had my moments as a young person, but as an adult, I think that I've only been considered to be a 'nice' person. I like to joke when a new student comes in at the middle of the school year by introducing myself and saying loudly "......and I'm the meanest teacher here!" Of course, all the other little ones start saying "No, you're the nicest!" "You're not mean!" (If you're insecure, or an attention-hog, I highly recommend being a good elementary music teacher.) I try to ALWAYS be nice to people. So, mean feelings surprise me. Feeling mean is different from feeling angry. Feeling mean is strange. The grief magnometer sometimes likes to shake things up and make me feel mean when people are trying to help me. Not good friends, but people that I might have to call, or have an appointment with - people that have my best interests in mind! I sit on the phone with them, or drive to my appointment, thinking mean thoughts about them, and concocting mean things I can do to them. Feeling this way is so unlike me. This is the main emotion shake-up that makes me so angry.
Oh, anger!! When I was in college, my roommate took a class called "Death and Dying". She would share portions of what they learned - it was such a foreign concept to college kids! They memorized the stages of grief as set forth by Elizabeth Kubler Ross. I remember Maria telling me the stages, they were novel and interesting at the time. I understood all of them except anger. I mean, yes, "you can be angry that someone is gone, but aren't you more sad?" I thought. My twenty-year-old self thought that. My present self knows that the anger is the quickest emotion to flare in my state of grief. Everything triggers anger, because it doesn't matter if the feeling is good or bad to start with, the anger comes around in the form of "Why aren't you here to share this beautiful thing/help me with this difficult thing?" I'm angry at fate, I'm angry at him, I'm angry at the life insurance company, I'm angry at my financial advisor, I'm angry at anyone that expresses a different opinion, I'm angry at the companies that keep sending bills, I'm angry at my fingernails for continuing to grow, I'm angry at the grocery store for not hiding that chili and those hot wings from my eyes, I'm..........angry. Very recently, I went into a yelling, screaming, cursing rage fit. Ninety minutes later, I was so embarrassed by my own self, I was in tears. Thank goodness family understands. I am controlled by this grief device. I just never know which button it's going to push on which day.
It's too bad that this grief magnometer is a final sale item. I cannot return it. The thing it came in to replace is permanently gone, and it is permanently here. I think I can change some habits and surroundings and learn to live with it, but I wouldn't if I didn't have to.
Let's talk about sadness. I have always cried at commercials, animal stories, my own and my family's hurt feelings, and especially when tragedy happened in other families. It rarely cut me inside with knives like the sadness from the grief magnometer. This device knows how to read when I am performing a simple task, like putting on makeup, washing dishes, starting the car....and then it attacks. It uses triggers that I didn't even know existed to bring on the memories, followed by the trembling lip and tears rolling from the eyes. If I could change the setting, I would have it schedule an appropriate time for sadness and a good cry, then I could carry on with the day. (Holly Hunter did that brilliantly in a scene from "Broadcast News", by the way. Check it out.)
The magnometer also knows how to scare me. I am sensible and smart. I have made plans to live without my husband's salary. He loved us so much, and left us in good shape for the future. But this crazy grief-device unleashes feelings of being afraid if we happen to spend thirty-five dollars on something, or if one of the cars makes a funny noise, or I see a bit of peeling paint out on the porch. I usually take charge and fix things - fix them myself if I can. But this new feelings device forces me to sit, stare, shake, cry a bit, (whine a bit) and even talk of giving up. Thank goodness for family and friends that talk me through these situations and encourage me to be my old self and handle them. This device is just plain old mean!
Speaking of mean.....that is one word that has never really described me. I'm sure I had my moments as a young person, but as an adult, I think that I've only been considered to be a 'nice' person. I like to joke when a new student comes in at the middle of the school year by introducing myself and saying loudly "......and I'm the meanest teacher here!" Of course, all the other little ones start saying "No, you're the nicest!" "You're not mean!" (If you're insecure, or an attention-hog, I highly recommend being a good elementary music teacher.) I try to ALWAYS be nice to people. So, mean feelings surprise me. Feeling mean is different from feeling angry. Feeling mean is strange. The grief magnometer sometimes likes to shake things up and make me feel mean when people are trying to help me. Not good friends, but people that I might have to call, or have an appointment with - people that have my best interests in mind! I sit on the phone with them, or drive to my appointment, thinking mean thoughts about them, and concocting mean things I can do to them. Feeling this way is so unlike me. This is the main emotion shake-up that makes me so angry.
Oh, anger!! When I was in college, my roommate took a class called "Death and Dying". She would share portions of what they learned - it was such a foreign concept to college kids! They memorized the stages of grief as set forth by Elizabeth Kubler Ross. I remember Maria telling me the stages, they were novel and interesting at the time. I understood all of them except anger. I mean, yes, "you can be angry that someone is gone, but aren't you more sad?" I thought. My twenty-year-old self thought that. My present self knows that the anger is the quickest emotion to flare in my state of grief. Everything triggers anger, because it doesn't matter if the feeling is good or bad to start with, the anger comes around in the form of "Why aren't you here to share this beautiful thing/help me with this difficult thing?" I'm angry at fate, I'm angry at him, I'm angry at the life insurance company, I'm angry at my financial advisor, I'm angry at anyone that expresses a different opinion, I'm angry at the companies that keep sending bills, I'm angry at my fingernails for continuing to grow, I'm angry at the grocery store for not hiding that chili and those hot wings from my eyes, I'm..........angry. Very recently, I went into a yelling, screaming, cursing rage fit. Ninety minutes later, I was so embarrassed by my own self, I was in tears. Thank goodness family understands. I am controlled by this grief device. I just never know which button it's going to push on which day.
It's too bad that this grief magnometer is a final sale item. I cannot return it. The thing it came in to replace is permanently gone, and it is permanently here. I think I can change some habits and surroundings and learn to live with it, but I wouldn't if I didn't have to.
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Coming Up Next!
I watch a little too much reality TV. I have all kinds of excuses, too. "But it's about cooking!" "I just can't wait to see what they do next!" "They remind me of my family!" I have also justified watching certain shows by saying that I would never watch another type. I personally have never watched any type of "Survivor" (that's why hotels were invented), "Bachelor" (I went through everyone's drama when I was that age) or "Big Brother". Well, not exactly true on Big Brother. It's just that that the only one I ever watched was a British celebrity version in 2001. Comedian Jack Dee brought his packed suitcase to the elimination meeting every week. He ended up winning. No other version could ever beat that, in my mind.
One staple of the reality show is the send-off to commercial. "Coming up next on _____ ______!" Then they show you thirty seconds to one minute of what you'll see in the next half hour. After doing that, when the show returns from commercial (fast-forward time, in today's TIVO/DVR world), they show you the last minute that you saw before "Coming up next". You hear and see the exact same thirty seconds that you saw right before "Coming Up" and commercials. Finally, it steps into new footage. Some night when I'm really bored, I think I'll get the stopwatch and time exactly how much new material I get to watch during an hour show of that type. My theory: Since everyone records their shows and forwards through the commercials, we get less show. It's a trade-off for luxury. Or, somebody really important in TV-land thought that the old education adage "I'm going to tell you what I'm going to teach you, I'm going to teach it to you, then I'm going to tell you what I taught you" needed to be plucked from teaching (where they still encourage that mind-set, another subject) and made into editing policy for television shows.
I wondered, while watching Hell's Kitchen, one of the most notorious for repeat-editing, (but it's about cooking!) what would it be like if we had "Coming up next" in life? What if we could know what's just around the corner? Not many years down the line, but the next week, or month at the most? If that did happen, would the "editors" have any rules? We won't show you death, but we will a flat tire. You can't know when your baby will arrive, but you can see that you're sneezing and have a cold. Those are just silly thoughts, of course. I do believe that my mind thinks in that way right now because my reality in losing my husband is this: there was absolutely no way to predict it, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to change it. "Coming Up Next" for me, life without him. How to handle that?
I don't lie to any of you when you ask how I am. I only say "ok", or explain that it's one day at a time, or good days and bad days. But I've discovered that I hold my true feelings in a fortress. I can cry a bit with family or very good friends. I can exhibit being 'down' or listless to anyone. But I prefer to cry, weep, sob, whatever you call it, by myself. Sometimes my girls will catch me. But I don't want anyone to catch me. I also spend time alone looking at pictures and remembering. I guess I'm just reviewing life so far before I take a breath and start living it again. I really don't know why, so this is not an explanation. It's just a statement of fact. Learning that life is short, unpredictable, and un-changeable just makes you break down, over and over. Also, there is no time limitation on when you break down. I'm hurting more at almost three months gone than I did the first week.
None of us have "Coming Up Next" in life. We have to live in two mind-sets: one to take care of the moment at hand, and the other to take care of eternity. So, maybe the TV shows have it right. You live, love, work, play, - all the things that make you "you" - and you also prepare for the future, as well as reviewing the past. You can glean your own practical explanations from those very general words, because everyone is beautifully different in this world. Life is not reality TV - but we play out our own unconscious version of "Coming Up Next". Excuse me if I take a few minutes to review what has happened before I breathe deeply and jump into the new footage.
One staple of the reality show is the send-off to commercial. "Coming up next on _____ ______!" Then they show you thirty seconds to one minute of what you'll see in the next half hour. After doing that, when the show returns from commercial (fast-forward time, in today's TIVO/DVR world), they show you the last minute that you saw before "Coming up next". You hear and see the exact same thirty seconds that you saw right before "Coming Up" and commercials. Finally, it steps into new footage. Some night when I'm really bored, I think I'll get the stopwatch and time exactly how much new material I get to watch during an hour show of that type. My theory: Since everyone records their shows and forwards through the commercials, we get less show. It's a trade-off for luxury. Or, somebody really important in TV-land thought that the old education adage "I'm going to tell you what I'm going to teach you, I'm going to teach it to you, then I'm going to tell you what I taught you" needed to be plucked from teaching (where they still encourage that mind-set, another subject) and made into editing policy for television shows.
I wondered, while watching Hell's Kitchen, one of the most notorious for repeat-editing, (but it's about cooking!) what would it be like if we had "Coming up next" in life? What if we could know what's just around the corner? Not many years down the line, but the next week, or month at the most? If that did happen, would the "editors" have any rules? We won't show you death, but we will a flat tire. You can't know when your baby will arrive, but you can see that you're sneezing and have a cold. Those are just silly thoughts, of course. I do believe that my mind thinks in that way right now because my reality in losing my husband is this: there was absolutely no way to predict it, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to change it. "Coming Up Next" for me, life without him. How to handle that?
I don't lie to any of you when you ask how I am. I only say "ok", or explain that it's one day at a time, or good days and bad days. But I've discovered that I hold my true feelings in a fortress. I can cry a bit with family or very good friends. I can exhibit being 'down' or listless to anyone. But I prefer to cry, weep, sob, whatever you call it, by myself. Sometimes my girls will catch me. But I don't want anyone to catch me. I also spend time alone looking at pictures and remembering. I guess I'm just reviewing life so far before I take a breath and start living it again. I really don't know why, so this is not an explanation. It's just a statement of fact. Learning that life is short, unpredictable, and un-changeable just makes you break down, over and over. Also, there is no time limitation on when you break down. I'm hurting more at almost three months gone than I did the first week.
None of us have "Coming Up Next" in life. We have to live in two mind-sets: one to take care of the moment at hand, and the other to take care of eternity. So, maybe the TV shows have it right. You live, love, work, play, - all the things that make you "you" - and you also prepare for the future, as well as reviewing the past. You can glean your own practical explanations from those very general words, because everyone is beautifully different in this world. Life is not reality TV - but we play out our own unconscious version of "Coming Up Next". Excuse me if I take a few minutes to review what has happened before I breathe deeply and jump into the new footage.
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