Friday, May 31, 2019

    As I was waking up, Elsa moved; I thought Mike!   Oh, boy.  On our walk his morning, Elsa ate poop.  This was a first, at least the first I've seen her do it.  She passes up dog, turkey, and pheasant poop regularly.  This must have been cat poop.  

    I was such a good girl today.  I called Rodney, the gardener, and Karin to get Sam's social security number.  I also called the electrician, who was supposed to come yesterday afternoon but didn't show. He never called. I called him to ask him what's up.   I did three kettles of water for the weeds and trimmed the bougainvillea on the back lanai.  I took a shower and did MELT for my feet and my hands. I continue to pass on the Tiger Tail.     

    I contacted the teachers at the school and asked if there was any point coming to school today, the last day.  One of the teachers said 11:30 to 12:45 would be a doable window.  The student I had been working with the most was there.  The student, overwhelmed by fear, was not. That wasn't a big surprise.  Today was filled with unusual activities: the songfest and something with water.  He would have been terrified by both events.  I had two minutes to work on reading with the student I had worked with the most for the last week.  Then the teachers came out and said they were told the students were to go to the water event early. I went off to Safeway to get my multi-grained baguette (I think I'm addicted), a package of California rolls, and sour cream in anticipation of eating the burritos in my freezer. 

    I napped, and then I called the electrician again.  He forgot me because he had an emergency. Karin called back.  We talked about the baby and life with the baby. She said she was concerned about reading the blog because I didn't seem to be sad.  I don't know that I am very sad. There are moments when I miss him. For me, the energetic connection was the most valuable. I open my heart and let his love in and smile.  

    I'm slowing down. I don't want to do daily entries to the blog anymore. However, I'm concerned for my welfare.  Is this depression setting in? Am I getting to the point where all movement hurts? It doesn't feel that way. This is an old pattern that predates Mike, B(efore) M(ike), avoiding doing something because I'm afraid I won't be able to do it right, or it's too hard.  I hear others offer that excuse for dealing with change. It's too hard. What does that mean? I don't think it is really too hard.  I know I can do it; I've proved that over and over and over.  It means I'm not sure how it will turn out beforehand. It means having to deal with uncertainty.  Maybe I won't do it correctly. I certainly won't do it perfectly on the first try. I may never be able to do it perfectly. Why should that be a problem?  

    For me, my mother's constant criticism is certainly a possible cause for this fear.  My father didn't yell; he sighed in disappointment.  He was good with small errors.  His frustration with me is that I couldn't solve the world's problems and come up with a 'new' solution to man's cruelty to man.  I came up with some old ones, ones Christ or Buddha had offered up.  Obviously, those weren't effective. We needed something new.  He thought my child's mind, unpolluted by social values, could come up with something. That's right up there with the experiment the King of Scotland tried in the 12th century.  He believed that children raised unexposed to language would automatically speak Hebrew. Surprise! They remained mute, spoke nothing, nada.  Like the King of Scotland, my dad would sigh in disappointment when I came up with an idea and say, "Ah, Buddha thought of that, or Christ or whoever." Not too heavy a set of expectations to place on a child. 

    My friend Carolyn sent the following quote from the Poetry Foundation Site:

Mary Oliver quoted in Brain Pickings.

"I don't mean it's easy or assured; there are the stubborn stumps of shame, grief that remains unsolvable after all the years, a bag of stones that goes with one wherever one goes and however the hour may call for dancing and for light feet. But there is, also, the summoning world, the admirable energies of the world, better than anger, better than bitterness and, because more interesting, more alleviating. And there is the thing that one does, the needle one plies, the work, and within that work a chance to take thoughts that are hot and formless and to place them slowly and with meticulous effort into some shapely heat-retaining form, even as the gods, or nature, or the soundless wheels of time have made forms all across the soft, curved universe — that is to say, having chosen to claim my life, I have made for myself, out of work and love, a handsome life." 

I do feel that I have work left to do, work I can do.  I also have my book I would like to finish writing. It is much easier to focus on projects for Mike: getting his book published and making sure his books get distributed to any seminary that would like them. 

    He really wanted the whole Collection, all 3000, sent to the Josephinum where he taught. They would have to add on another room to accommodate his books, the Ross wing. I knew the answer before he died. "No! Please, no! Don't send  your books here." But I told Mike that I was in touch with the rector about the books, which was true, so he wouldn't worry about it.  Now that I'm working on cataloging them every night and looking forward to finding the books seminaries select, packing them up and hauling them off to the Post Office and paying to have them shipped to the recipient.  I hear him feel bad about how hard I'm working on his behalf.  It is more than all right.  It provides me with a goal. I'm more concerned about what will happen when the work is done and the library is empty of all the books. Ow!

    Yvette stopped by with a stash of chocolate bars and replaced one shelf of books and took down another set. There are 8 sets of shelves that go up to the ceiling. I can't safely reach the books on the top two shelves. Yvette stops by, gets up on the stepstool, and passes the books down to me. I catalog them, and the next time she stops by, we replace those books and take down another shelf. 

    I walked Elsa. At the far corner of the block, I saw a  large metal object. It's a wheel frame and axel on something smaller than a car. I have no idea. But I know it's too heavy for my brown paper bag.  

    I ate the California rolls, my limeade, and 2 chocolate bars for dinner. I cataloged more books. At some point, I saw that I had posted 33 books on the Wish List rather than the Collection.  No, no. I don't wish to get these books, I have them. I want them posted under Collection.  I will have to check if they have been placed under Collection or only under Wishlist. Damn! Thirty-three books to check. That's double the work.  I was over 1800 before I started cataloging tonight.  Is it all the work I've done to waste?

    I walked Elsa, washed my face, brushed my teeth, got in bed, and said, “Goodnight, Elsa. Goodnight, Mike. 

- - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Musings:  I’m putting this separately so those who are not interested can choose not to read it.

   

    CS Lewis's phases of grief started with his personal devastation over his loss. Next was his sorrow over all his wife would miss by not being alive, all the opportunities that will no longer be available.  His third phase interests me. He writes;

    ". . . bereavement is not the truncation of married love but one of its regular phases- like the honeymoon. What we want is to live our marriage well and faithfully through that phase too. If it hurts (and it certainly will) we accept the pain as the necessary part of this phase. We don't want to escape them at the price of desertion or divorce. Killing the dead a second time. We were one flesh. Now that it has been cut in two, we don't want to pretend it is whole and complete. We will still be married, still in love. Therefore, we shall still ache. But we are not at all -  if we understand ourselves- seeking aches for their own sake. The less of them, the better, so long as the marriage is preserved. And the more joy there can be between the dead and the living, the better." P.64

    He wrote of feeling a great relief from despair when he adopted this point of view. He was afraid that others would think he no longer cared about his beloved, or worse than that he had retreated into his unfeeling shell again.  

    I can relate to his idea of the grief being a phase of the marriage.  When Mike decided to get his second Ph.D., he was concerned about the impact on me and our marriage.  My first response was, "It will make my heart bigger." But once he had everything lined up, he had been accepted, signed up for classes, and found a place to live in Washington D.C., his guilt overwhelmed him again.  I said, "If you do each moment for God, for yourself, for me and for our marriage, we will be fine." He thought that was a ridiculous idea. Fortunately, we were with a friend when this discussion came up. As Mike dismissed what I had to say, she said, "No,, no. She's right." I had full confidence that I would feel like part of this process if he so included me.

    Likewise, I have been asking him to do this with his death, his absence, for God, himself, me, and our marriage.  It gives me a greater sense of purpose when I think of it that way.  

    But I have given myself a surprise. I have been sitting here thinking, "I will do my bereavement for God, myself, you (meaning Mike) and our marriage." Only I am having a terrible time listing myself after God. Now, why am I having this problem? Is it because I'm so used to hearing it from Mike's point of view, or is it that I can't think of putting myself before Mike.  When I mention experiences like this to Jean, she says, "You're a woman. He was a man." Is that the reason?  I have no idea.  But, you can be sure I will explore it with my therapist in my next session. Sounds fascinating.  In the meantime, I will focus on doing everything for God, myself, Mike, our marriage, and all those who are currently present in my life.

Thursday, May 30, 2019

    I walked Elsa first thing when I got up, just to the end of the block once I turned right out of the driveway. When I got home, one  boiled 1 kettle of water for weeds, did my oil rinse, and washed my dishes.  

    I went to Bikram.  Yesterday, Heather, the instructor, had made a few comments about my practice. One about the misalignment of my left leg in the separate leg standing head to knee pose, and the other about my right knee being smaller than it was the last time she was here.  I said no to the first and gave her some other explanation for the second. Then as I always do about anyone’s comment, I thought about both.  I apologized for to her for my responses and thanked her for being aware of me and any suggestions or observations she might make.  I find them invaluable and will always think about what she has to say.  I hate to make someone feel uncomfortable about sharing their insights with me. While they may not make sense at the time, I will remember them forever. Sometimes when I work, I find myself thinking, “Ah, that’s what Pam (or whomever) meant with that observation 20  years ago.” 

    My leg and hip have been causing me more discomfort at night. Discomfort that lasts more than one day makes me think that maybe the time has come to have my hip surgery.  My back is pretty straight.  That’s what I have been waiting for. Then in Bikram today, did a lot of rolling on my tennis ball. Again, I rediscovered all the muscles that are not directly related to the hip are still causing problems.  I need to make sure the problem is isolated to the hip alone before I have THR.

    I showered, hand washed my Bikram stuff and hung it on the line. I did one more kettle of boiling water for the weeds before I had my therapy appointment with Shelly. I wound up working on my relationship with my dad. His insinuating way of probing me felt like a violation. I was Anna to his Freud.   He probed inappropriately without concern for my boundaries. I doubt he thought I had any. But I know a friend told him not to do what he was doing. I was afraid to set boundaries. Theoretically, because there was no other basis for the relationship. He used me to explore his own concepts without regard for me.  He didn’t think it would be a problem.  There is no way he would have deliberately violated me.  But the idea that children could be affected by childhood experiences wasn’t commonly understood in those days.  The thought was that children always bounced back and could survive everything.  

    In the therapy session, I did posthumous family therapy, I finally told him to back off. I felt disgusted with him. I remember feeling disgusted when I was a child as much as I also loved him and depended on him for kindness.  My mother wasn’t big in the kindness department.  She actually felt it was bad for children.  In my imagination, when I finally told him to back off, he became enraged, which he never, and I do mean never, manifested when he was alive.  He buzzed around the room like a deflating balloon.  In the end, he was a lump.  I was furious then.  I kept calling him a lying sack of shit.  Lying because he was pretending to be doing one thing when he was really doing something else.  He had nothing to say in response.  He was literally deflated and depressed.  

    I remember him being depressed when I was young.  He called it Weltschmerz. He was saddened by the human condition.  He had lived through two world wars, was thrown out of the courts as a lawyer for being a Jew and left his homeland, which he loved, because life as a Jew had become untenable in Germany.  He had seen and lost a lot.   By the end of the session, I envisioned myself as having moved a little closer to him and kneeling by him.  I still feel repulsed, but I have a little more compassion. 

    After the session, I sat down to play FreeCell and work on the blog. While I thought nonstop about the students at school that I worked with yesterday and was planning to see today, I then forgot to go. I was too tired and could only think of sleep.  It was my last opportunity to work with them. 

    I got up from my nap by 1:30 just as Jean called. I got the laundry off the line while talking with her. She spoke about how her foot is doing and that she is still dealing with sadness about the loss of Mike.  She saw the picture of me with Sidney on my lap that Shivani had taken. She said I didn’t look happy. I didn’t feel unhappy, focused perhaps, but very happy to be with Sidney. I find him an exceptionally delightful child. He seems to like me. Wow!  After the call, I worked on the blog.

    That’s all I remember of the day.  I take notes as the day is going on, but sometimes I forget to keep up and then the day is gone.  I can be sure I walked Elsa twice, once before dinner and one before I went to bed.  I can be sure I watched TV as I cataloged more of his books. I can be sure I washed my face, brushed my teeth, got in bed, and said, “Goodnight, Elsa. Goodnight, Mike. 

- - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Musings:  I’m putting this separately so those who are not interested can choose not to read it.

    C.S. Lewis talks about being touched by the reality of another person. Someone who breaks your conceptual bubble and reminds you that there are others out there. Having our bubbles broken also reminds us that we are different, helps to get us to know ourselves better.  Back to TS Elliott and his quote, “Always greet your loved ones as strangers every day.”  I know that it’s not only others I can learn more about, but I also surprise myself.  I think the capacity to be anyone, good or bad, is in us all. There’s always more to learn about any human being, including ourselves by ourselves.  I think the human condition is just fascinating. But I’ve said that before. 

    Lewis wrote that his first concern was his devastation over his loss of his wife and only what she had lost second. My first preoccupation was with Mike’s loss. His life here was so rich; he was so happy.  I thought of all the joy that he would no longer have and all the pleasure he could have brought to others. I don’t think this makes me particularly unselfish. It must be something else.  I mourned his joy, and the joy that he might have experienced in life had he lived.  I have no idea why it’s working that way for me.  I’m not in despair as Lewis was.  I think I still feel Mike’s presence. Lewis lived his life as a bachelor alone. He lived alone, and his work as an academic and a writer had him isolated from other humans. He allowed his wife into his life and enjoyed as she ruptured his contained sense of self.  It was new for him; he experienced it as liberation.  I had Mike for 45 years, and we were both committed to learning from the other. 

    Some don’t want their conceptual bubbles burst. That form of self-containment reminds me of solipsism.  When I first learned about it at18,  I concluded it was a horrible view of the world.  It meant there were no boundaries.   We know ourselves partially because we know what we’re not.  We’re not the chair we sit in. We end where the other guy’s nose begins. There are consequences when we try to walk through walls or people.  In solipsism, there are no consequences we don’t design ourselves. I couldn’t think of a logical argument against solipsism. How can anyone prove that there is truly a world beyond their own imagining? That the world they see around them only exists while they think of it? They believe they don’t perceive anything they haven’t mentally created. It sounded like a horrible way to live.  I decided to live as if there was an objective reality; that the world I thought was out there was really there, and there were consequences to my behavior. I would get injured if I attempted to walk through walls or through people. I preferred that view of reality to the one of pure subjectivism of solipsism.         

Wednesday, May 29,2019

   

    I was up at 6 am.  I walked Elsa, did my oil rinse, made my Juice Plus smoothies for two days, washed the dishes, packed clothes so I could change after Bikram, and put my briefcase in the car. I had plans to go to school directly from Bikram. 

    JJ is gone for the summer, and we have a new teacher, Heather.  When I saw her, I recognized her.  I didn’t like the way she spoke.  I remember being uncomfortable with her presentation style.  I like it much better now.  She is a good teacher; she knows as much about the body and the practice as JJ does.  She made a suggestion and an observation.  I disagreed with both.  I have to tell her not to give up on me.  My first reaction may be to say, “No, that’s not right.” But I will always think about what she said, and I always value her feedback. Her observation that I had too much of my weight on my left leg still doesn’t feel right. Not that I’m not going way over, it’s just that I’m doing it to realign the leg. But then she said that my right knee looked much smaller.  I told her that I thought it might be because I have strengthened my left leg, making it a bit bigger.  But, I think she’s right; it is smaller.  I think the reason is that I have just recently learned to tighten my thigh, my gluts, and my abdominal muscles, in that order.  Once I learned that I started pushing the back of my heel/ ankle back as I walked to propel myself forward.  This action tightens my knee and thigh without causing a hyperextension. Must tell her tomorrow

    After I rinsed off and changed,  I stopped off at Island Naturals to buy more pumpkin seeds and dried cranberries to add to my salad.  Then I drove up to the school to work with that one student who is still far behind. 

    When I got to school, the whole 3rd grade was on their way to lunch.  Because I remained in savasana for half an hour after class, I arrived at school later than I had planned. Oh, well. And the class I had been working with had ‘caf’ duty, cafeteria duty, which kept them occupied for the rest of the day. Instead, I worked with two students from another 3rd-grade class after they came back from lunch.

    While waiting for the kids to come back from lunch, I called Notre Dame Seminary in New Orleans; John and I promised them the list of Mike’s books for them to choose from. I got the head librarian on the phone.  I assured him we hadn’t forgotten him, but I had only cataloged 1700 books so far, and that is only 2/3 to ½ of the books. He giggled.  

    When the students came back from lunch, I had a chance to work with two students. One was a boy who I had worked with a lot.  He had made considerable progress, but still got stuck on the longer words.  I have to keep modeling how to deal with words that present as confusing.  I emphasize identifying the vowels, first and foremost.  Most syllables (yes, there are a few exceptions) contain a vowel sound;  the rule of one syllable equals one vowel sound is pretty reliable.  I have the students find those vowel letters in words.  Then they have to decide how to divide the words.  There has to be a line between each of the vowel sounds.  I think competent readers do this automatically.  We divide words in our minds and blend them back together again without thinking about it.  He needed to remember to apply this rule to words consciously that don’t look familiar immediately.

    The other student had/has more of a psychological problem.  He is afraid of everything. He doesn’t want to do math because it frightens him.  He claims he is afraid because students tell scary stories. There was not much I could do that involved his cooperation.  I just used EFT tapping. Then he had to leave for recess. I continued the tapping at home.  I have no idea if what I did made any difference to this child.  I have no idea if his problem is generated by life circumstances or a severe neurological issue that needs more invasive treatments. 

    On the way home, I thought to stop by at local bodega and pick up 2 bars of Hersey’s milk chocolate with whole almonds, but I found the tutoring so satisfying that I didn’t need to. Besides, when I got home, I had my chocolate smoothie to look forward to. 

    At home, I vacuumed the lanai and the kitchen, applied several kettles of boiling water for weeds, wrote on the blog, and played FreeCell.  Then I took a shower with soap (the shower at the yoga studio is a rinse-only.) and did MELT for my feet and hands. I did two laundry loads: Shivani’s towels and Bikram stuff for Yvette, Scott, and me.  The first load on the line-dried before the washing cycle for the second load was finished. It’s that time of year. The sun is so hot that we get instant drying unless we get a torrential downpour. 

    My tutoring student’s aunt finally listened to her read and was very impressed. We both think that her initial evaluation couldn’t have been accurate.  They said she was on the first-grade six-month level.  She may have read slowly and missed a lot of sight words, but she had a lot of skills in place and just needed practice.  She is a bright girl who learns quickly and will put in the effort. She declares she loves reading now and is working on The Diary of a Wimpy Kid books, which are considered on a fifth-grade level.  Since she improved in reading and is working on her own, I am concentrating on math now. She still has problems with subtraction with regrouping when there are zeros in the top number.

    I worked with her on pattern recognition. I wrote out the 2 times table and the 3 times table, had her identify all the odd numbers in the factors and the answers, and asking her to identify a pattern. The pattern I was looking for was that the answers to the two times table were all even, and the answer to the three times table alternated between odd and even.  Then to see if she could figure out why that happened so that it can help her anticipate if an answer to a multiplication problem is going to be odd or even. While I had something in mind, I’m always open to other observations. She knew which numbers were odd and even, but couldn’t apply it as rapidly as I  thought she would. 

    While I walked Elsa on our before dinner walk, I missed Mike. I was thinking of his loving ways. All I had to say was, “Okay,” and he knew what to do: get up and give me a hug and a kiss. He sometimes initiated it himself.  As I walked, I  thought of how I felt when he did hug and kiss me. That made me feel better.  If I can evoke the terrible way my mom made me feel when she scourged me with her words, I can evoke the wonderful feelings Mike made me feel.  I talk to Mike frequently. He’s worried about my food and my sadness, and my neglect of the garden.  He’s pushing me to call the gardener and get the weeds taken care of. I  told him to get a life. Well, maybe, get a death. 

    For dinner, I had a  large salad, to which I added more feta cheese. I  don’t like the Asian mix; I have to remember not to buy it again. I had some leftover soup,  3 slices of butter multigrain baguette, limeade, tapioca pudding, and my pills.

    While cataloging the books, I came across a CS Lewis book, “ A Grief Observed.”  He was in much greater agony than I am.   Besides losing his mom when he was nine years old, he met his wife late in life and only had her for a short period. She brought him out of his shell and allowed him to be touched by another, her.  He talked about how she would penetrate his bubble with her words and make him reconsider his thinking. Sounds like she was Lewis’s ‘worthy opponent.’ 

    He talked of how he couldn’t picture her face.  I experienced this when I lost my father at 15.  I concluded at the time that it was just too painful.  A young colleague in Ohio lost her husband when they were both in their 30s. She was wondering if something was wrong with her because she couldn’t picture her husband’s face.  I assured her it was normal and not an indication of her not caring about him. I also find I can’t imagine Mike’s face now. I can feel him hovering but not see him in my mind’s eye currently  alive.  I can’t see them clearly either.  I know that it’s their face, but I can’t see the details, even their expressions. I realize it isn’t that I can’t picture his face; I just can’t imagine it the way I saw it when he was in front of me, and I could take in the details of his facial structure and his expressions, a face I was so familiar with.

    After dinner and cataloging the books, I walked Elsa again before going to bed, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. Good night, Elsa, Goodnight, Mike.

Tuesday, May 28, 2019

    I didn't go to Bikram today because Shivani wanted to go to the beach again before she left. I got up shortly after 7. I headed out on my morning walk north on Nehiwa  St. again to avoid the four wild dogs rushing poor Elsa. She had other ideas. She led me around the block. We had to bypass their house on our way back. There were no problems. Amanda and Brian must have been home again.  There were small things to pick up, mostly cigarette butts. However, right across from my driveway, someone threw food packaging right out of their car window. Love it when people do that. There was a Star Bucks bag that looked like it might be holding a cookie. I was tempted and did peek, but decided against checking it out too closely.  Enough is enough.

    I used the morning to make phone calls. Since there were some emails from Raymond James about the movement of money from joint accounts to my individual and from the non-trust accounts and then to the trust accounts.  I got an exact tally of how much money I have currently, not counting the incoming money.  I should be just fine. Boy, do I have it easy.  I think of how bad it could be for people.  I am so lucky.  All I have to deal with is missing Mike.

    That missing is becoming more pronounced as time passes. My identity is intact.  My identity was never primarily as Mike's wife.    My financial well-being is intact, more than adequate.  I can take care of myself- at least for now. We'll see.  I feel a creeping depression.  I think of it as a withdrawal from something I was habituated to if not addicted to. Not seeing his joy and delight makes me the saddest.  He was almost childlike in his ability to experience positive emotions. My mom was like that, too.  She had a great capacity for joy.  Both Mike and my mom were Scorpios.  Maybe it is a trait of their sign.  Her capacity for joy made her not only bearable but loveable. Mike was wonderful even when he wasn't joyful; that he could experience delight in his life made him even more loveable.  Mike could be silly, and we could be silly together. Hmmm!  I used to say, "I love you so much, it's silly." It almost felt silly, ridiculous for an old woman like me to be so madly in love -with her husband no less.  I would say that my love for him grew and grew over the years.  

    The passion I felt at the end of his life wasn't there in the beginning. In the beginning, I went on the inner knowledge of it being just right.  For those of you who are familiar with coin phones, remember the sound the coin made as it connected? Remember the sound it made when it didn't?  You knew when the coin fall was connected. When it didn't, we had to pull a lever and release it.  In the same sense, I knew that Mike was right.  It was just a deep inner knowledge of rightness.  Followed by the additional knowledge that I could live with what he was at that moment for the rest of my life.  Of course, that didn't wind up being true.  If I were to meet that Mike now, that arrogant know-it-all, I doubt very much I could be as accepting of that person.  But then again, I've been spoiled.

    I called Juice Plus and finally got through to place my order. Then I called Social Security to find out about March's payment. I told them that the SS office that contacted me about the returned March payment still hadn't gotten back to me, and I was concerned that something got lost.  The agent told me that the SS office was working on the March payment, and I would get a letter from them before it was sent out. He also told me that my regular payments had been approved and I should be receiving the letter confirming that today or tomorrow. 

    While I was on the phone, Shivani came out of the bedroom to tell me that she had the wrong departure time.  She thought it was at 2:30pm. No, rather, it was 12:30.  She was going to have to leave at 10:30.  Good thing I stayed home.  I got to spend some time with her and Sidney before they left and got to make all those phone calls to the east coast before the offices closed. 

    When Shivani and Sidney left, I sat and played FreeCell for a while.  I am feeling more blah.  I worked on following my breathing and staying focused on the immediate.  If I move slowly and intentionally, I can keep going.  God, I miss him.   I spoke about his capacity for delight in general, I have also mentioned that he expressed that delight in me.  He loved me, and he made me feel loved.  God was I ever lucky to have had him, and I had him for 45 years. 

    As Shivani left, she said there was some sand in the bedroom. That got me up and vacuuming. I found some sand and lots of dead bugs.  I hadn't vacuumed before she came.  I would never do that with Damon. He would notice every bit of dirt.  Love that boy;  I really do, I think more so with time. That was true before Mike died.  Somewhere along the line, we became heart connected in a deeper way.  It means a lot to me.

    After I vacuumed, I worked on the day's notes for the blog. I hadn't sent one out yesterday.  I was just too busy. 

    I had a healing client on the phone at 4 pm. He is responding well to what I have to offer. He says it's the best therapy he's had.  That makes me feel like a million bucks. Feeling competent and useful is the best, besides being loved and delighted in. That's gone. 

    There was another torrential downpour in the afternoon. Fortunately, it stopped in time for me to walk Elsa. 

    I came home, did a little work on the blog, and played Free Cell. Thank God I have something to do, but I feel like doing nothing right now. I suppose I will just have to go through this.  Being married for 45 years becomes a mental and physical habit.  Changing the mental habit is comparatively easy.  The physical habit, how you move with each other, where and how you sit with each other, where you sleep in the bed, how you negotiate the use of the items you share, when you do things with each other or with each other, oh, so many, many things that have been developed over the years and become stronger, more engrained, with each year.  When does a habit become an addiction? Both involve withdrawal when you give them up/lose them.  I am thinking there are two types of grief, at least.  One is when you had an expectation and were disappointed. The other is when you lose something habitual.  One can be an isolated incident; the other is the loss of your sense of self.  You feel differently in the new circumstances. The terrain is unfamiliar.  What do I do in this new world? How do I navigate.?  

    Yvette came up to say goodnight. I told her about the correspondence with Tom Wnuk and his saying that there are more incidences of pancreatitis. He believes this increase in rates of pancreatitis is due to increased use of medication and GMOs.  Yvette remembered that Mike commented that he didn't care what the adverse side effects of the medication he took, he couldn't live without it.  He was referring to his anti-anxiety meds.  He was on an exceptionally high dosage. He tried talk-therapy and healing but never felt that he successfully overcome his chronic anxiety. He was finally diagnosed with PTSD.  This was a result of the persecution his family feared during the McCarthy era and the trauma he experienced daily because of his mother's hysterical reaction to just about everything, according to him.  I think his sister experienced the situation differently.  

    I walked Elsa. We're back to our usual route, turning right when coming out of the driveway.  It seemed we were oaky when passing Brian and Amanda's house. The dogs are contained again.  I came home, had dinner, and cataloged more books. I walked Elsa again before going to bed, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. Good night, Elsa, Goodnight, Mike.

Monday, May 27, 2019

    When I went for my morning walk, I still turned right out of the driveway rather than left, not being sure that Brian and Amanda were back from Maui.  I saw this amazing rainbow.   

    We get a lot of rainbows here in Hawaii. Until recently, it was the icon on the license plates.  I had no idea why it was there until the volcano at Kilauea finally stopped spouting its fumes and putting an end to the vog, which obscured the rainbows on the Big Island.  I have seen double and even triple rainbows. When I was on Oahu, I saw rainbows low in the sky, an overlay over the mountain actually coloring it. I didn’t even know that was possible.  But this rainbow was still something I had never seen before. It was 1/3 of a rainbow, rising up out of the water, slicing up through a cloud, - and just ending.  

    When I got home from my walk, I did my morning routine and left for Bikram. I started pressing on the outside edge of my feet in bending postures.  Doing so activates different muscles. I also worked on stretching my pec muscles to open my shoulders. 

    Shivani and I discussed differences in parenting ideas from when I was a child to now.  It was assumed that children could recover from anything.  Shivani’s grandmother, Mike’s mother, once said she couldn’t bear it if anyone spoke to her how she talked to them and thought nothing about changing.  Maybe it was a generational thing. She thought this was just who she was, and changing in any way was not a possibility. However, Christianity and Buddhism both hold the concept of behavioral changes in their theology. The idea is not new. 

    Shivani spoke about how millennials change constantly.  But they don’t change for the sake of becoming better or more moral people. They are looking only for personal satisfaction and want it instantly. They assume that the world should do everything their way. Really? They leave one unsatisfactory situation for another, expecting that they will find the promised environment where they will be appreciated for whatever they do. Apparently, this generation received praise for being toilet trained by the time they were 10.  Not much else was expected.  All criticism was removed from the curriculum.  Everything was good. I can see emphasizing what is right in someone’s work. If someone spells was as wes, you could say you got the first and the last letters correctly, but not telling someone it was perfect the way it was to start out with.  It wasn’t. 

    While we talked, Shivani did water painting.  It’s fun watching her develop the picture. She does it for relaxation.  I commented that I hadn’t known about this hobby of hers. She said she’s not that good; there was no point in telling anyone.  But for me, it was the new knowledge about her and how she spent her time.  The image of her peacefully painting will stay with for a long, long time.

    Shivani helped me sort through the Christmas stuff in the closet in my study.  Mike loved decorating for Christmas.  I liked helping him take everything down, but found putting the decorations up depressing.  I have no idea why.  He had recently bought two large garlands to hang over the bay window.  They took up a lot of space in the closet.  They had to go. Shivani carried them out to the car. I kept everything I had seen for more than one year. There were things in there I had never seen.  There was a revolving clear plastic winter display which played music from The Nutcracker, and a Styrofoam snowman, neither I had ever seen before.

    I did some work on the blog, and then we all did some gardening on the back lanai. It winds up the Shivani loves gardening. Well, do I ever have a garden for her to run free in. Shivani picking up fallen palm fronds, Sidney went in and out of the sliding bedroom door, and I continued working on trimming the Bougainville. 

    After I did that dirty work, I showered and did MELT for my feet and my hands. I am skipping the Tiger Tail. My hands feel so much better for doing MELT every day. This is truly a fantastic process for repairing damage from repetitive actions.

      Next, we went to Home Depot to pick up two new pretty pots and soil for Shivani to repot the two plants Mike bought the Christmas before he died. Before we unloaded, we went next door to take up Ronen on his offer of a tour of his outdoor plantings and hothouses on his commercial farm. This neighborhood is zoned for agriculture. Before he and his wife moved in, that property was a total mess.  Now, everything is in neat rows of beautiful growing things in different colors.  Shivani asked him if there were many farms like his on the island. The answer was no. Most farms are mono-crops, planting only coffee or only mac nuts.  His farm has a great variety of eatable plants.  He gave us some marigold leaves to taste.  Apparently, the farm is a lot of work.   

    Besides the eatable plants, they have two goats and about a dozen chickens. They have the goats because a friend found an abandoned baby goat and knew that Ronen’s wife would take it in. Elizabeth is a sucker for animals in need.  They bought a second one to keep the first company.  They can’t release them into the wild because these animals think they are dogs and wouldn’t be prepared to run like hell when approached by a hunting dog. 

    When we got back to the house. I unpacked the trunk of garden stuff, did some work on the blog, and took a nap.

     We went to the Otech beach when I got up.  It has a lagoon area that is knee-deep at its furthest point. Good for kids.  Sidney had no interest.   We walked over to the other beach area for Shivani to swim in while I watched Sidney.  Now how do I describe this? Potentially dangerous is a good start.  It’s a deep crevice between high lava rocks walls, but the water isn’t very deep.  I’d say at the highest side is about five feet above the water.  The pool itself never gets very deep.  

    The waves come to shore and rush down the sluice.  This means the water rushes in and pushes you toward shore and then rushes out, pulling you toward the ocean.  Mike and I loved swimming there.  We kept saying it was like a mountain stream to discover that freshwater did feed that particular sluice from the mountainside.  The water was colder and crisper, as only freshwater can be.  I haven’t been able to swim there for a while because of my buoyancy problem.  I have no control over my body as the water rushes in and out.  I feel like a piece of flotsam.  Maybe if I wore weights, I could manage it.  Ah, I forgot to mention you have to climb over lava to get into the pool, and then it is filled with large rocks you have to navigate around. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but it is just wonderful. 

    To boot, the lava pool is right under the takeoff flight path.  This makes it even better, not worse.  I know when we took off, we would note when we were going over the pool. We felt so connected to this island.  We love living in Hawaii; well, Mike did, and I still do. 

    When we came home, we finished off some leftovers. Then I watched TV and cataloged books. 

    I walked Elsa before going to bed, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. Good night, Elsa, Goodnight, Mike.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Musings:  I’m putting this separately so those who are not interested can choose not to read it.

    Another thought confirmation by Yvette’s recommendation, “happiness is an inside job.”

    “The survivors of a  broken relationship – even when the break is ‘for the best’- are surprised to find themselves in a world that is suddenly different, and the mind needs to learn to  make its way in it.” 

    This is how I feel.  I am adjusting to a new and unfamiliar environment, much as I had to adapt to a new and different situation when we moved here 5 years ago.   There is always an attachment to the familiar and an adjustment when we lose it, no matter how minor or major. 

    I have mentioned before that I have been preparing for a time when I would have to live without Mike since I met him. It wasn’t that I distrusted him. Quite to the contrary, I trusted him completely. Besides his clear and obvious love for me, he is a man who acknowledged commitments.   But, as we well know, there’s life- and death.  It was death that took my father from me, my mom and sister. He was also a man who would only break his commitment to his family through death itself, unless very desperate.  That loss set me up to anticipate the possibility of the death of those I love. If Mike was late, I would don my widow’s weeds.  It was a running joke that I was always planning his funeral.  He would say, “She’s planning to bury me again.” He said it in the hospital.  He had promised me that we would die at the same time in our 90s. “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”  I never took his promise seriously, and always anticipated that I would have to live out my life without him. I have been grieving for 45 years.  I have more than done an appropriate amount of grieving.  

Sunday, Mary 26, 2019

    I woke up at 6 but only got up when I absolutely had to. I told Judy and Paulette that I was passing on church because I was too tired to consider doing both the church and fulfilling my commitment to usher at the Kona Choral Society concert. 

    When I walked Elsa, I turned left coming out of the driveway instead of my usual right turn. The other day, when we passed the house where Brian and Amanda live, their four BIG dogs came charging down from the house right at poor Elsa.  I stood in the street, screaming for help because I wasn't sure of their intent.  It was clear that Elsa wasn't either.  One of the dogs licked her privates, and she peed herself. How do I know? Because I managed to pick her up around that time and my leg got wet.  These dogs had met Elsa before and were just glad to see her again. Apparently, they don't bother dogs they didn't know because someone else walked their dog past that house, and the dogs didn't make an appearance.  More upsetting than the dogs running loose was the lack of response to my cries of help.  I wouldn't have expected that in this neighborhood.  Of course, it was early in the morning still.  Many folks may not have been up, or they just didn't hear.  This is not Queens; it is Hawaii known for its aloha, concern for others.

    These four BIG dogs are usually safely behind a fence on the property. Their owners, Brian and Amanda, went on a short holiday to Maui.  The dogs, who are generally well behaved, broke out of the fence with little effort.  Adam, their landlord, tried to fix the fence, but they broke it again.  He tried to confine them to the house; they broke out of that, too. 

    When I got home, Shivani made some eggs for me, so I didn't have my usual breakfast: miso soup and my Juice Plus smoothie. After breakfast, two-year-old Sidney and I went down to the bottom of the property to pick limes. It took a short while to get through to him that he was supposed to pick up the yellow balls (yes, ripe limes are yellow) and throw them in the bucket. We picked 32 off the ground and a few that dropped down while we were picking up the others. On the way back up to the house, Sidney decided he wanted a lift. I'm in pretty good shape, but carrying a heavy bucket and Sidney at the same time up a very steep hill was beyond me. 

    Josh was standing in the driveway. I asked him if he could carry Sidney. He came down and said he would take the bucket. I was prepared to pick up Sidney, but he put his hand on the handle and helped Josh with the carrying chore. I wish I had my phone with me to take that picture. 

    On the way up, I spoke to Josh about my plans to usher at a choral concert that afternoon.  I mentioned the name of the hotel, the Sheraton. He then told me that there were several Sheraton Hotels in the area.  Good thing, I had the wrong one in mind. Mike and I had gone to one up north, and I thought it was in the same location. I checked my email from Judy Chaput, who organized the ushers, and sure enough, it was not the same one we had gone to.  It was half an hour in the other direction. Phew! 

    Josh walked the bucket into the house and then placed it in the kitchen sink for cleaning.  I filled the pail with water so I can make sure to kill off all the animals I bring into the house with the limes. Josh stayed and talked with us for a while without sitting down, standing in the opening between the kitchen and the lanai watching Sidney and enjoying him.

    We had some drama. Shivani thought her sick feeling was because she was having a reprieve of strep throat that she had before. She had called her doctor in California; he was going to call back.  Because she didn't have her phone, she had given the doctor my house phone number.  When the phone rang, the receiver she had picked up didn't work. She grabbed another one. That didn't work either.  I ran to the bedroom to pick up the third receiver. I got there in time to hear him say that he would try the other number he had, but that was Shivani's phone, which she had left in the Lyft car on her way to the airport in California.  Fortunately, the doctor must have heard me at the last minute and called back on the house phone.

    I was so tired. I went to bed to nap.  I got up from my nap, showered, no time for MELT, and dressed.  I took some of my breakfast soup with me to the concert.  Paulette drove; I was so tired.  We walked to the ballroom, which was not too far from the parking lot. Judy Chaput gave us name magnetic name tags. I was assigned to give out programs, and block the door I was at once the concert started, so it wouldn't distract the singers.  We had to direct folks who had to go to the bathroom to go to the far door.

    I brought something to read with me, expecting to have time before the concert started. The chorus rehearsed for the hour before the performance.  Now that was interesting. I heard the director giving final directions and making corrections. Then I got to listen to the whole concert.  I think I enjoyed it more for the preview.  I have never been someone who enjoyed music for itself in my youth.  If I couldn't choreograph it while I was listening, I couldn't enjoy it.  Music for just music's sake, except as background sound, this is new for me.  

    This young couple was sitting at the back of the auditorium right in front of me. They had a two-month-old baby with them. While the mother went to the bathroom, the dad held the baby and walked up and down. The fear in his eyes was memorable. The baby was fine, but the couple left early. This was obviously their first.  Nervous!

    Paulette and I didn't take the highway back home, we drove along Ali'i Street along the shoreline. I knew we were going to pass Huggo's, which serves this delicious poke tower.  Shivani had proposed going out her first or second night here. That's where we were going to go, but it got too late, and we winged it at home. I tried to call Shivani to see if this would be good with her, but there was no answer on the house phone despite me yelling out, "Shivani, answer the phone." Before we reached Huggo's, Yvette texted me to tell me she was out. I stopped off to order two poke towers to go. How bad could it be? When I got home, Shivani had just arrived herself.  She had found out about a keiki's, children's, beach, and went there.  On her way home, she had picked up Thai food.  After I walked Elsa, we attacked the poke because it was fresh, and the Thai food would hold.

    After dinner, I retired to the library to watch some TV and catalog books. I walked Elsa before going to bed, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. Good night, Elsa, Goodnight, Mike.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Musings:  I’m putting this separately so those who are not interested can choose not to read it.

    Yvette recommended  the book, "happiness is an inside job." I was familiar with most of the concepts and didn't find the writing a particular delight but read on.   There might always be a nugget tucked away in the book that triggers a new thought or realization or confirmation.

    Almost at the end of the book, I found a confirmation of some of my thinking.

    "Any challenge, even a small one, is a potential cause of confusion." 

    This is the language I use; I call our response to any new or unexpected situation' confusion.' That means all learning situations cause some confusion. Now, this confusion can be described neurologically. It means our wheels start grinding when it a  small challenge to our current thinking about ourselves or the world around us. (The exact neurological description is probably something closer to blood starts flowing to areas of our brain that might hold some related information on the topic at hand.)  If it is a big challenge, we talk about a flood of information, making our heads spin.  There is no upbeat term, that I know of, for the initial confusion effect of something new. 

    People who are good learners, love this feeling; some stimulation set the gears into motion.  They think it is fun. I'm that way in certain circumstances and not in others.  I think we all have areas where 'confusion' is comfortable for us and where it is not.  I think we can measure a person's expertise in a field by the degree of confusion they can tolerate.  The better they are at a skill, whether that skill is cooking, language learning, or personal transformation, the more confusion they can tolerate.  The skilled learner sees the state of unknowing as an opportunity to learn something new. It's exciting. They trust their ability to come out the other end in better shape than they entered the state of confusion.

    Many years ago, at the end of a 10-day silent meditation retreat, I found myself conversing with two other women who were psychologists.  One woman said, "Don't you just hate it when your client doesn't take your suggestion." The other woman and I simultaneously said, "No, it's an opportunity to develop something new." 

    I work with children who have trouble learning.  They dread confusion, the very thing they need to tolerate to learn successfully.  I approach this problem directly.  I ask them how they feel about confusion or uncertainty in learning. Now, there can be many reasons to want to avoid this experience.  For some, it is that they didn't learn quite as quickly as their classmates. For others, their minds are overwhelmed with confusion before they even came to school because of their life circumstances.  Survival comes first; school learning comes second. With some, I can help them to realize that they are physically surviving in their chaotic home lives and will survive until they get out on their own. However, for some children, this is not a given. They have parents who regularly physically attack them or live in neighborhoods where they have seen their peers randomly killed.  Preoccupations like that keep the mind whirling around, making learning simple things impossible.    

Saturday: May 25, 2019

    I got up as usual at 7 am on Saturday when  Bikram starts at 8:30am. On the way home, I stopped at Costco for salad and another case of almond milk. When I arrived, I did my oil rinse and continued working on the pan Shivani burnt frying the steak. I consider a cleaning project like this fun.  I got a good deal of the burnt marks off just by scrubbing.  But then I pulled out the big guns.  I made a paste out of baking soda and vinegar and applied it to the burnt spots. 

It worked like a charm. I have a bright and shining frying pan again.  I learned the trick with the paste on the Internet for cleaning stovetops. I couldn't believe how well it worked! I can get my stovetop looking like new.  After I do what I have to with the paste, I wash down with Dawn and then spray rubbing alcohol and polish it.  Now, it stays pristine, no Mike to make a mess by using it.  And I certainly don't.

    I did nothing but slept most of the day. Shivani and I talked about losing our husbands to death.  She was in her late thirties when her husband died.  They had been together for seven years and got married so they could buy a house together. The boxes weren't all unpacked before Dave was diagnosed with glia cell carcinoma. I'm thinking her loss is harder to deal with than mine.  There are models in our culture for 78 widows galore. Thank God, it isn't like it was when I was young in the 1950s.  A woman my age without a husband lost her whole social circle.  She was a fifth-wheel, a danger to the stability of the group. The world is open to me. I don't have to don widow weeds and settle to await my own death.  There are no role models in the culture for a 38-year-old widow. Not to say there aren't other 38-year-old widows, just no archetypes available.

    While there was more to come in our lives, more to look forward to, for Shivani and Dave, it was a vast canvas before them that they had every right to think they would someday fill. While I think of changes I will make in myself that would have made me even more available to Mike, I also know that we were both works in progress, and we had already made a lot of changes for each other. However, there was so much more to imagine for Shivani and Dave. Theirs seems the more difficult transition to me.

    Shivani said that she attended a grief group.  There were people of all ages there.  She said each story of grief was different, and yet they were also all the same. There was a 90-year-old holocaust survivor who lost both her children in their 40s and finally her husband.

    I did manage to complete one blog and send it out. Elsa and  I did our walk. Dinner was my usual large salad and limeade, a leftover piece of steak, and the noodles with broccoli alfredo light that Shivani had made. I cataloged more books.

    I walked Elsa before going to bed, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. Good night, Elsa, Goodnight, Mike.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Thoughts: A new category.  I used share my thoughts with Mike, whether he wanted to hear them or not.  He was good at not paying attention when it was too much. Seemed like a good compromise to me.

    When I read some of Mike's book the other day, he was talking about emptying our egos to allow Christ into our lives. Ego and emptying it.  Boy, what does that mean? Sounds scary. Totally empty my ego.  What is ego to start out with? It has a bad name.  When the word ego is used to describe someone, it usually involves a critical comment.  

    Okay, let's start with what an ego is.  I checked my favorite source of information, wiki.  Oh, well. It's a start and a good one. It offers an overview. There are varying definitions/concepts of the ego. Naturally. Wiki gives me one sentence definitions of each of these. I'm in the habit of writing about things based on my own observations and own conclusions. This is how my father trained me to think. This drove Mike nuts. When I met him, he was an academic; he felt that no one should talk about something unless they were an expert.  That included his 13-year-old son. I felt and feel that the novice has some interesting points of view that the expert never considers. They can see something from a fresh angle. Can you see why we would have a problem?  I don't see anything wrong about free-thinking, in the sense of following a line of thought freely to explore an idea without first having gotten a Ph.D. in the subject. (Mike had 2 (two) ). He had to push me into getting my Masters. Degrees don't have a lot of meaning for me. They do not equal knowledge, no less wisdom.

    But I am doing some light research before I shoot off my mouth. This is good because I'm learning things I didn't know, like discovering some people somewhat agree with me, even if they are a small splinter group.

    Ego: (Freudian), one of the three constructs in Sigmund Freud's structural model of the psyche.

"Egoism: an ethical theory that treats self-interest as the foundation of morality.

    Egotism: the drive to maintain and enhance favorable views of oneself.

    Egocentrism: the ability to differentiate between self and others.

    Self-concept: a collection of beliefs about oneself that embodies the answer to "Who am I?" https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ego (My nod to research.)

    Now the closest to my theory is Egoism as a self-concept. When I followed up and checked the full entry and looked at the expanded definitions and those philosophers who share this point of view, YIKES! Their thinking also does not conform to my theory. Yes, self-interest, but recognizing that the welfare of others is essential to one's well-being.  That doesn't seem to be included. The relationship between self-interest and the well-being of others is touched on by evolutionary Egoism, but not really.  It appears that the possibility of being concerned about self and others at the same time isn't seriously considered. Now, let us remember, my research is about shallow as it is possible to be short of doing no research. 

    My theory involves that everyone's well-being is dependent on everyone else's well-being.  That means I must be as concerned about myself as I am about others.  My welfare is dependent on their well-being, and their welfare is dependent on mine.  Real well-being is limited to the extent that we care for both ourselves and each other. My concern for others is anchored in my concern for myself, and my concern for myself is rooted in my concern for others. There is no one without the other.  Focusing solely on one or the other places severe limitations on what is possible for all, for others, and for oneself.    

Friday, May 24, 2019

    My leg bothered me this morning as I was lying in bed with nerve pain running down its length. I did a  lot of massage with my tennis ball in the hour before the alarm went off.  When I finally got up to walk the Elsa dog, I could feel discomfort in the hip joint. Now, my appointment for hip surgery is currently in September when I am planning to do a tour of the west coast relatives: Seattle (Karin, David, and baby Sam), San Francisco (Shivani and Sidney), and LA (Damon, Cylin, and August). When the nurse calls me to change the date, I'm thinking I'd better change my ever-changing appointment for October instead of three months out. We'll see.

    I followed my usual routine, plus one kettle for the weeds, and made my Juice Plus smoothie for two days. I set out extra almond milk and Juice Plus powder to be sure that there was some in easy reach for Shivani. When she woke up, she complained of a sore throat and asked if I had any Vitamin C.  I had nothing in the house, so I called Yvette and Josh. Yvette came up like a shot with elixirs in hand.  I took care of Sidney to let her sleep longer.  I handed him back over to his mom when I left for Bikram. I didn't find out if Yvette's remedies had an effect until I came back home.

    When I checked my email this morning, I saw Mike Berstene got back to me on the 

Paulist Press's response to his submission of Mike's book. The publishing house accepted the manuscript for review.  This doesn't mean that they will publish it, but it's a start. Yeah!  He also called Orbis press but hadn't heard back yet. We'll see. I'm still prepared to self-publish through Amazon if necessary.

    It was JJ's last class until September. He off to the mainland to teach workshops and classes, compete in yoga contests (yes, there are yoga competitions), and visit family.

    I had a very long savasana at the end of class before I went to rinse off in the 'rinse only' shower. I didn't get on the road until 9:30, usually when I get home from the weekday classes. I went to school to work with a 3rd-grade student who has made a significant jump from nothing to the level considered the transition between 1st and 2nd grade. When I worked with him yesterday, I noticed he had problems holding sounds and blending them. However, I also noticed he had some good decoding skills, while there is still information missing, like the vowel rules. But the bigger problem is that he wants to read like everyone else, without conscious thought and quickly.  He doesn't appreciate that the learning phase of anything requires that someone move more slowly and consciously.  The only book available was a third-grade book she was using with the whole class because the teacher had already packed up the books in anticipation of summer vacation.  He complained that it was such a hard book. He was able to do a pretty good job, better than expected when I pushed him to slow down and use the skills he had. He's just very immature.  

    I headed home, thinking I would have to take care of Sidney for Shivani because she was not feeling well.  I planned to modify some cleaning chores to make them play for a two-year-old.  I have tons to do. This will be fun for me, too. I do silly and messy pretty well myself.

    I have been talking to Mike more, mostly as I drive. I can feel him there with me, worrying about my safety and my wellbeing in general. I have lost such sweetness from my life.  For others, Mike was a great intellect and a great administrator, a fantastic teacher, a counselor who touched them deeply.  For me, he was the sweetness in my life.  He was so kind so eager to see me happy, so delighted with what I was, the way I looked, my sense of humor, my decency, my friendliness, my pan-intellectual interests, the way my mind worked, making connections between random things, (as far as he was concerned.), my affectionate nature, my ability to challenge him on domestic issues when I disagreed strongly and my ability to co-create a unique solution to a problem that neither of us could have come up with independent of the other.  So sweet. So sweet. 

    I finished washing the dishes from this morning. Some pans had to soak more before I could get them clean. I sat down and worked on the blog.

    We got packed up to head to the beach. It took a while for us to get organized, but Shivani, Sidney, and I made it there. We went to the harbor beach, the one beach I thought would be appropriate for Sidney that we hadn't visited yesterday.  The harbor beach is where the small boats are harbored. When the large cruise boats come in, they have to anchor away from the shore.  Our shoreline is altogether too rocky and shallow for ships to dock. Although, I understand there is a large boat harbor in Havi, further north. 

    The swimming area used to be a fishing pond that the native Hawaiians set up.  It is a lagoon. It's man-made; they actually put down the rocks to create the lagoon. Judy told me they suspended slats from the rocks so the little fish could swim into the sheltered area, but they couldn't get out as they got bigger. Clever, eh?  Nowadays, it is a national park area, and it is just used for pleasure. The water is shallow all the way out, calm, and warm.  Perfect for us folks who are not interested in taking on the large waves and dangerous shorelines of the other beaches here on the Big Island. 

    As we headed out to the beach from the parking lot, we started to walk out without the stroller.  When Shivani saw how far we would have to walk, she went back to get it. Good move; it's a good ¼ mile walk. What was I thinking?  There was no way Sidney was going to make it on his own that whole way, and our arms were loaded with beach equipment. She was able to push the stroller over the rocks.

    Shivani, Sidney, and I went to this beach to meet up with Judy and Paulette.  Auntie P was her usual winning self with Sidney. This woman has a gift with young children. Adam's kids are so lucky to have her around along with Judy and Howard.  It was Sidney's first time swimming in the ocean. We stayed there until 4:30.  I went in too.  Problem:  because I have no ballast in my bottom anymore, I have trouble getting my feet down below my head even in calm water. My hips literally float up and force my head down.  

    When we got home, Shivani cooked dinner. I was sitting in the living room and heard the stovetop fan go on high, but didn't think too much of it. When I looked up, I saw the kitchen was filled with smoke. She wasn't used to Mike's super-duper stovetop; high means different things on different stovetops. When I became aware of what was going on, I turned on every ceiling fan in the house. The smoke cleared out quickly. Despite the rough start of the steak, it still tasted good, and she made an alfredo light with broccoli that was absolutely delicious. 

    Sidney and Shivani went to bed shortly after dinner. I went to watch tv. I was watching May Day, this bizarre story of the murder of a May Day queen in a small English town.  Too weird.  I went to the last episode to see who done it and went back to watching Silent Witness. The main character has switched jobs, and the tone of the show maybe a little better.  I do like the show, just not the monotony of the leading charter. There are like 17 years' worth of shows.  This should keep me entertained for a while 

    I cataloged another 20 books.  I am over 1500 now, and I think I'm through about half of the total number of books. I walked Elsa before going to bed, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. Good night, Elsa, Goodnight, Mike.

Thursday, May 23, 2019

    I followed the usual morning routine for Monday through Friday. One reader asked what I do with the kettle of water; do I boil the weeds in the water?  No, I pour the boiling water over the weeds to kill them with no toxic side effects.
    After Bikram, I had many stops before I got home, so I rinsed off and changed into street clothes. The first stop was at the chiropractor’s.  We are doing much more work on my shoulders, neck, all the area about my armpits. Then off to Target. I picked up bananas and Hersey Milk Chocolate bars with whole almonds. I had to look hard to find some. Then I went off to Midas for my annual car inspection. Here, there are no emissions inspections. I was told that only happens in big cities. Someone assumes that because we’re in the middle of the Pacific, everything dissipates and disappears. Really?  I was freezing in the waiting room.  I stepped outside to see if my car was even in the bay. Before I got around the corner, someone came after me to tell me the car inspection was finished.
    My next stop was at Costco. I picked up a package of salad mix and checked out the electric toaster ovens with convention. Holy Cow!  They usually sell reliable products. Besides, it was 12 dollars off the usual price. I grabbed it.
    I thought of going to school to work with one student who has skills but does not use them effectively to learn. He is an immature boy.  I don’t know how bright he is, but he is definitely not thoughtful.  He wants what’s easiest and most fun at the moment. He does not take long-term consequences into consideration. It’s as if they don’t exist.  He has the skills to improve his learning skills on his own now but won’t use them. Yes, he’s right: good readers just look at the word, and the correct word pops out of their mouths.  However, that’s not how the good reader learned to read.  You can’t imitate the person who has perfected the skill if you want to learn it. That’s a pretty sophisticated idea.  There are adults I’ve met that don’t get that. There are moments in my life when I don’t get it.  What’s with us?
    When I got home, I  cleaned house in anticipation of my niece Shivani and her 2-year-old son, Sidney, arriving. It’s not that she would care if the house was clean or not; it’s my need to use a guest as motivation to clean the house.  Mike and I used to say, “Where’s a guest when you really need one?”  I washed the kitchen floor, did some light vacuuming of the lanai, washed the guest bathroom floor, cleaned the bathroom countertop, and cleaned the guest bathroom toilet.  I used sandpaper to clean the ring. This is a fantastic discovery.  It works like a charm.  I learned about it from Govinda when I stayed at the ashram.  I’m just using some leftover sandpaper, but Judy tells me they sell sandpaper on a stick, so you don’t have to worry about getting your hands dirty.
    Yvette’s been saying that she found termites in the house, and we need another treatment. I called the company I used before. Ken, our contractor, recommended a man who worked for a termite company. He had moved to another company. The guy pointed to my bay window seat and said, “Look at all the termite wings. You have a house full of termites.  You need to have the house tented; spot treatment won’t work here.”  A mere $3600 for tenting.  I do think we need a full treatment.  Termites are a problem here on the island. They’re a problem anywhere it is warm all year round.  They never have a rest, which means your house never gets a rest, and they go forth and multiply, and multiply.  Here’s the problem.  I’m not convinced that the guy didn’t drop those wings on the bay window.  I had just dusted the day before, if not only that morning, and I find that bug stuff shows up in the corners not in the center of a large area as they did here.  Whether or not I’m right, I’m not comfortable with this company.  I will have to call another one even if I’m going to have the house tented.
    When he left, I showered. I was expecting Shivani and Sidney around 3:30. I had just stepped out of the shower when I heard her call from the driveway. I threw a towel around me. She hadn’t texted to tell me she was in because she had left her phone in the Lyft car she took to the airport.  Shivani brought in the suitcase. First things first, she blew bubbles for Sidney. He’s as obsessed with bubbles as Elsa is with balls.
    Before we had dinner,  we went to check out a few beaches that I thought might be suitable for Sidney. We went to Otech and Pines Trees. Otech, so-called because there is a facility down the end of the road where they tried to develop an energy source from the bottom of the ocean the same way you use geothermal energy from deep in the ground.
    At Otech, Shivani, Sidney, Elsa, and I all got out of the car and walked on the beach. No swimming today. The Otech beach is sandy, but once you’re in the water, it’s mostly rock. There is a large lagoon area where the water is about knee high at its deepest.  Then there’s this other area which Mike and I called the Lava Pool.  I don’t know if anyone else calls it that.  It’s sliced into the lava rock; the waves rush in and rush back out again.  It’s not particularly deep either, even at high tide, but it is absolutely delicious. Mike and I always felt that it was like a mountain stream. We found out that freshwater did enter the pool.  Someone showed me exactly where it comes in. It’s very refreshing. However, I can no longer swim there because I am so buoyant that I can’t control my body. The water rushes in; I am pushed to shore. The water rushes out; I’m pulled out to the sea. And, I’m banged against the rocks on the way in and out.  Maybe if I put on weights. The buoyancy problem comes with my age and sex.  All my internal female parts have shrunk, leaving me more a hot air balloon than I was when I was young.
    Our next stop was the Pine Trees Beach.  This is the first time I’ve been there since they built the new road.  I thought the road was going to go directly to the area where the public restrooms are, but no. We still had to drive down this one-lane road along the shore, which is lined with parked cars. The beach offers camping and surfing.  There is this small lagoon area where the kids splash around.
    Shivani wanted to stop off to do some shopping.  Matsuyama’s, our local bodega, came to mind.  There is one up the hill above our house, and I was thinking of going there. As we came out of the Pine Trees road, I saw the branch of this store which his right on the main highway. Duh! Sidney,  Elsa, and I sat in the car while Shivani went in to shop. Sid and I sang The Wheels of the Bus Go Round and Round. I only knew one verse, but that didn’t seem to bother Sidney- or Elsa.
    Once home, I moved my car into Mike’s old spot so Shivani could park her rental car, where I usually park, which is a more convenient spot. I rinsed off everyone’s feet with the garden hose.  Elsa ran into the spray, chasing it. I hung up the towels I washed earlier in the day.  When I went to the bathroom, I noticed the toilet paper in my bathroom unraveled.  Hmm! I wonder who did that. I’ve never had a problem with Elsa. Sidney is so much fun. I finally sat down to do some work on the blog while Shivani cooked dinner and fed Sidney. She is a calm, considerate mother.  
They were tired and retired.
    I went to watch some TV and cataloged books.  I walked Elsa before going to bed, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. Good night, Elsa, Goodnight, Mike.