We go to the Holy Rosary Church, which holds about 50 people in total. Some people sit on the small lanai at the front of the church. I once saw people standing in the parking lot in the rain with umbrellas during mass. I started talking to the woman sitting next to me. The first question always is, "Where are you from?" because tourists attend church. If you don't recognize someone, it is a good question to start with. This woman was visiting her sister, who had just lost her significant other. What are the chances of sitting right next to someone who is also dealing with a recent loss?
Fr. Diego was the celebrant this week as he had been last week. When he first arrived, his English was not very good. It still requires effort to understand everything he says, but a lot sounds good. It is those short [a]s that kill him. But, his sermons, wow! His English is excellent, his themes are great, and the macrostructure of them is brilliant.
When I got home, I worked on Thursday's journal entry and sent it out. I was exhausted and took a much-needed nap.
Sandor had called earlier about wanting to come and look at Mike's books. I knew he wanted his Book of Offices. I had looked around for what I thought it was and couldn't find it. When he arrived, he knew where Mike kept them. Yes, them. It's a four-volume collection. I was sure Mike didn't use these books. Well, I never saw him use them. I am regularly getting surprises about how Mike related to his religion. It saddens me somewhat that he didn't share more with me. Some of this may be a result of my very different way of relating to Catholicism than he had. His way was to study what others taught and to follow the structure dictated by the body of the church. We were very different that way. I look inside myself for answers in conjunction with things I learn from other people. Mike looked outside himself, to experts for guidance. This difference in the way we thought and discovered the world was one factor that may have prevented him from sharing more with me. But, I believe there was another factor. Mike never mastered the skill of participating in unstructured conversations. For him, that represented chaos, which he was uncomfortable with. Mike wanted conversations to be structured and have well-defined objectives. He could share information about himself when he thought it would benefit another person. Otherwise, he didn't like just talking about himself. You might think this was humility. I'm sure that was part of it, but I believe there was also a neurotic element. He was protecting himself from a situation he wasn't comfortable with.
While Sandor looked through Mike's books, I showed Mealiinani my hula skills. I was showing off. Meali'inani is Hawaiian. I thought she'd get a good laugh at watching me struggle to execute the dance. She started giving me pointers. Wow! Of course, she has been doing hula since she could walk. She taught me how to use my feet: keep your weight on your toes. That's how you get that rocking motion in your hips. She also made some pointers about how to move my hands. I understand everything, but will I be secure enough in my execution and my balance to be able to relax and do it.
Judy and Paulette arrived with food for dinner. Judy had cooked the meat and the apple pie at home. Again, it was the full Glickstein clan, Howard, Judy, Paulette (Adams), Adam, Jazzy, Leon, and Luke. The food was delicious, as usual. The meat was a brisket. The red cabbage was to die for. The mash potatoes were just good. The apple pie!! Need I say more. Good thing there are people in my life who know how to cook and want to use Mike's kitchen. Be my guest.
We were going to go through some of the pots, pans, utensils, electric equipment, etc., to see what they wanted to take home with them or leave here to use when they make dinner here. Both Adam and Judy weren't feeling top-drawer. All they wanted was the deep fryer hidden under the stovetop. I don't think Mike ever used that machine. Again, I'm looking at my husband as a hoarder, a very, very neat hoarder, but a hoarder.
I decided to use the dishwasher tonight. I don't like it because it doesn't get the dishes clean enough. But at least it sterilizes them. While the machine whirred away, I watch TV.
I've noticed some differences in Elsa's behavior. I think she is slowly accepting that Mike won't be reappearing. She doesn't sit staring at the front door, and she sits closer to where I am. Where Elsa would always greet Mike when he came in the front door, she didn't acknowledge my coming home. I see her standing by the door more when she hears my car pull into the driveway. When I nap, she comes and sleeps on top of me, sometimes. Elsa is all of 13 pounds, no real weight. Poor sweet dog. She had a very special bond with Mike, and he was crazy about her.
While watching TV, I worked on writing notes for the Sunday entry and revising Friday's. I walked Elsa, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. Good night, Elsa. Good night, Mike.
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