Yvette texted me that she had a killer sore throat and would not be going to Bikram. Last night, I added her leftover salad to what was left in the serving bowl, declaring, "I'm sure you're healthy." Guess not. I threw it out and put all dishes in the dishwasher to be sterilized. The dishwasher usually serves as a drying rack as I wash dishes by hand.
I have noticed that both the Bikram studio in Ohio and the one here in Hawaii have a strong sense of community. I know the names of a lot of people. I asked JJ about the sense of community in Bikram studios: Is this coincidental or something Bikram encourages? He was clear. Bikram is big on cultivating community. He encouraged people to talk to each other before class instead of maintaining a quiet studio. He encourages pot luck dinners, and pop up parties. Yvette commented on this. She worked at another studio and didn't have many connections with the people who worked there; the students didn't seem to relate to each other. She said at the Bikram studio, she knew at least half of the class by name. In Yvette's case, she will have had lunch or tea with half of those people. She's about as socially gifted as they come. She was that way as a child, too.
I went to Costco to return the beer and dishwasher soap. Apparently, I bought the beer 2 ½ years ago, and the clerk had to clear the dust off the top of the dishwasher soap bottle. She was protesting, accepting the return. She was clearly distressed. You would have thought she was the owner of a small local store. I said nothing. I let her work out the argument for herself and was prepared to just go with her decision. She accepted both items, unhappily, and gave me a gift card for $40. Good thing. I don't have a credit card I can use there because they only take Visa. I had called the credit card company to inform them of Mike's death, not realizing it wasn't a joint card, and I was just an add on. So much for that credit card. I ordered a new one right away. I bought a salad and dental chews for Elsa.
When Yvette and Josh were here for dinner, I told them about my credit card problems, losing every credit card I had with Mike. I, fortunately, had one on my own, but it's a Master card, not a Visa. When they heard how many credit cards, Mike had, they said they had one card between the two of them. I told them, and now tell all of you out there, to make sure that each person in a couple should have one card in their name with the other as an add on. In other words, Yvette should have a card in her name with Josh as an add on, and Josh should have a card in his name with Yvette as an add on. That way, both spouses are covered should anything happen to the other one.
As I was standing on line at Costco, Shelly, my therapist, called. Here I thought it was Wednesday. There was no way I could make it home before our hour was up. I had to make another appointment.
I got a text from Yvette; she was off to urgent care. Too bad, it wasn't strep. If it were, a simple pill would fix it. As it was, she had to wait it out. She says it feels like she is swallowing glass. I hope I don't get it. My throat feels funny. Of course, it could just be sympathy pains.
I spoke to Jeff at Raymond James. They keep talking about my needing the testamentary short form, which declares me as the executor. I had called my lawyer yesterday, but she didn't get back to me. Maybe I can take care of this myself. I found the number for Estate and Guardianship in the court and called. The clerk told me that to get that testamentary letter, I would need to go to probate, which costs a chunk of change. Back to Raymond James, They keep saying I need this other document, and no, I don't have to go to probate to secure it. My lawyer and the courts say otherwise. Round and round and round and round and round. Oh, this is so much fun. It's like playing whack a mole. Each insists the other doesn't get it. I'm finally coming down on my lawyer's side because I backed up her story with the court.
I showered, did MELT, and used the Tiger Stick. Am I a good girl, or what? I completed an entry from last week. I was exhausted and took a nap. I woke up after an hour, not bad for me, who prefers 3-hour naps. I did some ironing, wrote a little more, and got to work on the car insurance. I had to drop Mike's name. The insurance agent didn't ask me why. I finally said he died. She told me she knew because she had seen it in the newspaper. This lady was so nice and so helpful. Dropping Mike's account hurts. I had to call T-Mobile to cancel his phone, too. There's a finality to these cancellations. It means he's not around somewhere needing car insurance and the use of his phone. He's really not around. Funny, the things get through to me.
Did some incidental ironing while the sun was up using solar panel electricity. It started raining once or twice while I was doing other things. When there is a breeze here, the rustling of the palm fronds can sound a little like rain. But after living here a while, boy, do I know the difference between the two. The moment raindrops start falling, I'm on the alert if I have my Bikram stuff out there on the line. I know I'm going to need that for tomorrow's class, and I'm up and out the door to get them off the line. Other items? Eh, who cares. They'll dry eventually.
I worked on Saturday's entry. I took Elsa on her late afternoon walk and picked up the mail on my way back in to the house. There was an invitation from the Office of Vocations addressed to Mike and me to invite us to the ordination to the priesthood of two men Mike worked with closely. I can't think of an ordination he would rather have attended. It made me sad to think he would miss it, and the two men would miss him being there. He had so much to live for, so much living left to do. As I said in his eulogy, losing him was like losing a young person with their whole life ahead of them. Mike was getting bigger, doing more, enjoying more. This makes me sad. I hope he is happy. If he's happy, I can be happy. When I think he regrets dying, it makes me very sad.
I didn't write notes for the late evening. I can only assume I ate dinner, and cataloged books while watching TV. I walked Elsa, washed my face, brushed my teeth, went to bed, and then said, "Goodnight, Elsa. Goodnight, Mike."
