Good news: Status quo
Bad news: None
I woke up this morning to a spasm of self-hatred. I had that a lot when I was 13. I remember that year. I walked around, hearing, “ David, I hate you.” David is my maiden name. I was at camp, and we were all referring to each by our last names that summer. While I suffered from self-depreciation most of my adult life, those spasms are quite different. They’re small electric shocks surging through the body. This one included some thoughts that I might be responsible for Mike’s illness and death.
Just before he died, I went on a ridding jag. I wanted to get rid of all the surplus. I cleaned out the shed; I cleaned out the toolbox. I got rid of anything we hadn’t used, and I couldn’t imagine needing in the future. Habitat for Humanity was the primary beneficiary of all this surplus. In cleaning out the toolbox, I came across several old prescription bottles with screws and nails carefully sorted. I recognized my father’s hand. He died in 1956. My thinking, if we haven’t managed to use these in 63 years, it would be safe to assume we could get rid of them without regret.
Mike wanted to keep them. If one of us was going to use a nail or a screw, it would more likely be me. I’m the family handyman. He was the cook and host. The question: was I sending out some message that Mike had become access baggage along with those nails and screws. I was becoming more self-reliant with his more frequent absences, mostly for diaconate weekends, and taking over more of our joint responsibilities with his illness. I know this is totally ridiculous. I also understand that it is common for people to wonder what they could have done differently when someone dies. Except for pushing the doctors to have his bile fluid continuously drained with the NG tube to prevent the aspiration pneumonia, I can’t think of anything else I could have done. And I did ask the doctor about it after his death. He said there were risks either way. He could have even choked on the tube somehow.
Except for these painful thoughts, before I rose, my sleep was good. I was able to get up at 7 today because the Bikram class is at 8:30 instead of 7:30. I got to class early, just in time to get my spot in the back of the room. I needed to brace myself against the wall and hold on to the ballet bar. When the class started, there were 21 people in the class. The largest class I’ve seen so far. And, someone was standing right in front of me. I said, “Bruce.” He turned around saw he was blocking my view of the mirror and moved to the back of the room by the door. I saw him move his arms to the side and realize that he didn’t have enough room to get a complete range of motion. He might as well have stayed where he was. The teacher stood in front of me the whole time, blocking my view in the mirror. He made sure not to block Yvette’s view, who was also standing in front of the teacher’s platform. Now Yvette is a gorgeous woman about his age with an incredible yoga practice. Talk becoming invisible as you age! The truth is: I don’t feel invisible for the most part. I am lucky I live in Hawaii. The elderly are respected here and a very active part of the community.
Right after class, I headed off to the hula rehearsal to learn the dance I’m planning to do with the group for Mike’s funeral. This is their regularly scheduled practice time. I had never had a conversation with any of the participants. There are two young girls, but most are well over 50. There is one haole in the crowd. Haole means those without breath and is a prerogative term for white people. While white people who come here often have money, they are clearly not the majority. The Asians and Polynesians are. The political system is pretty much run by the Japanese. Mike liked to say that the Japanese needn’t have bothered invading Hawaii, they would take it over in time anyway. I really don’t know how accurate this is, or if he just meant it as a joke appreciating the irony.
Everyone in the hula group came up to hug me, except the youngest of the two young girls. One of the elders gave her a look, and she moved to approach me. I assured her that her gesture was unnecessary. She took me at my word because she backed off with impunity. One of the women told me how Mike had approached them and told them that I was considering joining the hula ministry, and he was so excited. Yes, there is literally a hula church ministry, just like there is a choir ministry. The hula group only performs on special occasions, but Mike just loved it. And, he very much wanted me to join. I was reluctant because of my hip problems, but I had just been noticing that the older ladies didn’t bend down as much as the younger ones. Maybe I could get away with it. My arms are still good.
They had already developed a choreography to the song I selected. This would be easier for them than the Ava Maria, which we had initially proposed doing. First, they demonstrated the dance while I videotaped it. Anita, who heads the ministry, slowly started teaching me the dance. Now certain parts of it I could pick up quickly, but I was surprised about how awkward my arms felt. My arms have always been the strong suit of my dancing. My legs were never something to write home about. Anita broke down the dance section by section. Then, I videotaped the oldest of the young girls separately, who is lovely to watch. Her arms have the flowing motion, which makes hula so entrancing, and she coordinates her knee bends with her arms organically and effortlessly. Watching her is like watching a boat rock gently on waves.
On the way home, I stopped off at Long’s to take advantage of their ‘extra bucks.’ I don’t know about you, but I never get to take advantage of these offers. Either I forget altogether, or I remember too late. Ah, but today, I planned it. The item I really wanted was on sale already. Good enough! I bought it and a CVS version of the same product with the extra bucks, and of course, a Hersey Milk Chocolate with Almonds, unfortunately not with whole almonds. I have noticed that the old smaller version of those chocolate bars, with whole almonds, has disappeared off the shelves. Neither Target nor Longs carries it anymore. I was able to buy it at Safeway, where I stopped off to buy more packaged kale salad, my mainstay.
Then off to Kaiser to pick up my new prescription of Lexapro. I think I’ll stick to taking a whole pill for the time being, even though I don’t have to take it for Mike’s anxiety anymore. Afterward, I drove to Costco next to get air in my tires. I had the attendant check the tire treads at the same time. My regular mechanic had told Mike that I needed four new tires. Yvette and Josh were concerned about the safety of those tires. It winds up the criterion for judging the tires was the date on them, which is written in code. The idea is the tires need to be changed every 5 years or so. Learn something new every day. The fellow said I had some more to go before I absolutely needed to change them, but better sooner than later. I have a rebate from Costco for $100. I know where that is going.
But then I have a lot of returns to make to Costco. Mike and I were both into buying in quantity. Our house has the space for us to indulge. I have something like 8 cases of Pellegrino. Mike drank it, but I can’t stand the stuff. However, I would buy it whenever it was on sale. There are other unopened cases of things, but the Pellegrino outstrips them all.
When I got home, I finally had breakfast, my usual: a cup of miso soup with tofu and some greens and a Juice Plus smoothie made with almond milk. I posted Thursday’s journal entry and worked on Friday’s. Doing this is vastly superior to the many other things I could be doing to distract myself. Much, much better.
Saturday is NPR day. Love those Saturday shows, mainly “What Do You know,” “Moth Radio Hour,” and “TED Talks. I napped, walked Elsa, ate dinner of kale salad, leftover salmon and mash potatoes from yesterday, and finished off the Haagen Das vanilla ice cream. I found a new English murder mystery series, “Suspects.” I think Mike might have enjoyed this with me. He liked anything English.
I picked up the mail on my way back into the house. Another bill telling me that we hadn’t paid last month and owed ungodly amounts of money in late fees and interest. I paid the fines and terminated the card, which is only in Mike’s name.
I finally sorted the pictures and letters into piles. There are 40 pieces of correspondence my mother had saved, many of them from friends and family in Germany. They must have been written during WWII because they are marked “Opened by Censor,” in both English and German. Does anyone know someone who can translate from German to English? I understand the handwriting may be a problem. The handwriting of my grandparents is very different from the handwriting of today in Germany. The difference between then and now in English script is not nearly so great.
I took Elsa for her last walk of the day, did my facial routine as recommended by Colleen, and went to bed.
