I set the alarm for 7 but woke up at 6:30. I walked Elsa. The first thing I did when I came home is call my godmother, Sister Bernadine, a nun at Medical Mission Sisters in Philadelphia, who's about to turn 100 this month. I had already made a few calls and only got the message machine. There is usually someone there to answer. Against there was no answer. I washed dishes and did my oil rinse, and went off to Bikram.
I met Bernie at a Vipassana meditation retreat. There was this small, slender, dark-skinned woman dressed in polyester sitting on the cushion next to me. I remember thinking she looked old for 50; she was 72. She looked the same for the rest of her life. She was born in Trinidad to Asian Indian Hindu immigrants who converted to Catholicism. She looked out of place in family pictures, but my mom loved her, and Bernie was good to me and for me.
One of the yoga students, Agnes, came across the room to give me a hug and welcome me back. I don't know why we hadn't run into each other before. She must have been doing classes other than the first thing in the morning. While she knew why I had been away, she did not know that Mike had died. I had the pleasure of informing her.
There were 22 people in class this morning. Great!. Mark said he had as many as 33 in a class one time. A good turnout assures that the studio will survive. Krista, the current owner, was there after class. It was good to see her. She only teaches the Sunday morning class, which I have not been attending because I go to church these days. She is doing a dynamite job running the studio. She made some changes to the lobby, painting the walls, bringing in plants, and putting up knickknacks. She has a good eye for interior design. I want to see her home, sort of like a museum tour. She told me that she had been following my blog. I'm delighted but always surprised to learn that someone is still reading my output. It makes me feel wonderful.
After Bikram, I drove right over to the church to check out the hula group. They were doing their dress rehearsal practice for Palm Sunday in the church with Walter and Thelma providing the live music. I just said hello and asked to be kept in the loop.
On the way home, I stopped at Long's to use the coupon I had for a box of lens cleaners. They didn't have, or I couldn't find, the regular-sized Hersey's Milk Chocolate with whole almonds. What is going on? Now all I can find on Long's shelves are these super large Hersey bars with almonds pieces. I can't find any regular Hersey chocolate bars at Target, either. I assume the change came down from the Hersey company. I checked it on the internet. The change was in the recipe, removing all synthetic ingredients using only natural ones. It makes it more expensive and less available. Hmmm! Can man live on Hersey's milk chocolate bars with whole almonds alone?
When I got home, I showered, and hand washed my Bikram stuff. There was a heavy downpour, making hanging clothes on the outdoor line of dubious benefit. I put everything in the washing machine for a rinse and spin. When I usually hang my Bikram stuff on the outdoor clothesline, it is always dripping wet. It still dries pretty quickly when it's buffeted by a breeze or zapped by the brilliant sun. When I have to hang it up inside, I have to get as much liquid out as I can to have it dry by the next day.
I showered while the washing machine ran. After my shower, I did Melt, used the Tiger Tail, made my morning soup, and sat down to drink it and work on the blog. After a little work, I was exhausted. I lay down for a nap and woke up 3 1/2 hours later, and I was still tired. There was no particular reason for this. I had had a good night's sleep. I suspect that I have bouts of grief. If I remember correctly, grief is exhausting.
I am seeing grief as a form of chemical withdrawal very similar to any other addiction. No, I'm not suggesting I was addicted to Mike, but my nervous system, my chemical makeup, and my biomass were all modified by the person who I lived with for 45 years. I am in withdrawal. A change from anything we're used to involves withdrawal.
My friend Carolyn moved from Philadelphia to Pittsburg to be nearer her children. She didn't leave the house for a month. She just sat inside and read. Her children and her husband were concerned about her. But after a month she was fine and started exploring her new world outside the house. We talked about it, and we both agree on the enormity of such a change, particularly if you have been living in one place for a long time. Besides, all the details of daily activity, where you put your toothbrush, where the toilet paper holder is in relationship to the toilet, and if you turn left or right to get back to your bedroom after peeing, etc. etc. All these changes seem small, but there are impactful. It takes time to get used to them. Besides that, if you are moving to a new city, there are actual chemical changes in the air and the water, and probably the cities biomass.
When Mike and I first moved here, Yvette told us it takes 14 months for someone to completely adapt to the new environment. There is an actual withdrawal from the old environment, both chemically and neurologically, as our old patterns are abandoned, and our new habits are established. In the same sense, the change from living with someone for 45 years versus being alone involves chemical and neurological changes just as much as psychological. These changes are exhausting. I think I am doing more chemical changes for now than psychological. I feel like I still can't imagine that Mike will not continue to be part of my life. Even while I feel him fading. Sometimes my mind gets that he's gone; sometimes, it's my body that gets it. I rarely feel that they both get it at the same time. So far, I'm experiencing my time without Mike as alone time. I know the difference between alone and lonely. I love alone; lonely sucks.
While I was sitting in the living room chair working on the blog, there was a massive earthquake. I've heard different numbers, 5.2., 5.3, and 5.5. The epicenter was a good 30 miles away to the north.. I was sitting in the section that is sitting on the slab, not the section over where Josh and Yvette live underneath us. I watched the whole house shake. Weird. It lasted briefly but much longer than I have ever seen before. I wasn't just one good shake, it went on for a few seconds. I'd say somewhere between 7 and 12 shakes. As I watched the house shake, my fear wasn't for myself, but for the house. How could it have survived that shake-up unscathed? We will surely find out. Everything looks okay. I just saw one picture fell off the shelf in the library and one draw open.
Poor Elsa jumped in my lap as the house shook. Yvette immediately called up to ask if I was okay. I called Judy, but no answer. As it winds up, she was on the road coming home from Walmart with Paulette and felt nothing. Possibly, the quake didn't reach that far away from its center, or the car protected them from the shaking. When they got home, they got a full report. It looks like all the houses on the property survived.
The emergency service called warned about aftershocks, but there was no threat of a tsunami. While a tsunami would never reach us up here unless half the island falls into the ocean at the point of the fissure, which is developing down south from us. (Yes, the earth is starting to split. However, the existing crack can still be measured in inches. It will be a while.) Earthquakes are predictors of volcanic eruptions. I believe it is more the frequency of them than their severity. They are expecting Mauna Loa to erupt sometime in the foreseeable future. I don't know how far into the future they are looking. Our home is not in a lava flow path, but if lava takes out downtown Kona and or the airport, our lives here will become very difficult.
Elsa and I did our walk shortly after the quake. I ran into people on my walk, and we all compared our quake stories. Marsha, our neighbor across the street, was indoors and experienced what I did. Her husband, Charlie, was outside. I heard an enormous bang and saw waves in the pool.
When I came home, I had dinner, watched TV, and cataloged more of Mike's books. I am recording the ones that don't have barcodes, or the barcodes are unreadable for one reason or another. I do it by the title and author rather than the ISBN number. The title and author are easier to read and type than the ISBN number. I don't enter the ones for which there is no existing copy in the CollectorZ database because it's too hard on my eyes to read all the details I have to enter. I'll leave that for someone with better eyes, probably younger eyes.
I walked Elsa, washed my face, brushed my teeth, went to bed, and then said, "Goodnight, Elsa. Goodnight, Mike."
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