I was 32 at the time and resolved to spend the rest of my life single with occasional long-term relationships. I figured I didn't want to live entirely without male companionship, so I was going to have to figure out how to make myself comfortable in the dating scene. I therapist at Group Therapy, where Mike and I met, told this story of how she handled her discomfort. She decided she wasn't going to do anything she didn't want to do. She would walk out on dates in the middle of them. She once met a guy for a date in the lobby of her apartment. She took one look at him as she walked out of her elevator, turned around, and went right back upstairs. That sounded like something I could take on.
I decided that I was going to date anyone who I didn't think was going to do me bodily harm, but he couldn't call me more than once a week, and I would only go on dates once a month. Sex was out until I was good and comfortable. May never be. I never had more dates in my life. I don't know if I was more attractive for my clear boundaries, or I was just more comfortable allowing men to come within 10 feet of me so they could ask me out. Having to deal with a man I don't know well is not a pleasant dream. It's scary. Some part of me must clearly know that I'm single again. I loved that I could tell men who approached me that I was married and unavailable. Ah! Can't use that excuse anymore. Although I can't imagine men will be interested in me as there were when I was in my 30s and 40s.
I know I don't look shy, but I am in certain situations. I do very well with light contacts, running into people in classes, stores, on the street. I also do well in high contact situations, like living with people or with people I have incorporated into my family, as long as they into negotiating with me, so we both get what we need. (I find that there are people who consider any form of negotiation as a platform for manipulating them to doing it my way. Fortunately, Mike understood that I don't operate that way. I really do want what is best for both of us. My line is, "I vastly prefer to have it OUR way, but if not, I will fight to have it my way." My way is a sorry second choice. It's never better than the 'our way' choice where we are both comfortable.) It's the whole range of social interactions in between casual and intimate I have a history of trouble with.
Now I come by that problem due to my family background. My parents were immigrants from Germany. Casual friendships were out! So American! My father told us how he refused to join a fraternity when he was in university in Germany because he would have to address his fraternity mates as du, the informal form of you generally reserved for family members, rather than Sie, used for people you don't know well.
My mother was just generally paranoid. Shortly after we moved to Great Neck when I was 13, my mother and I were in the local bakery. There were two girls there my age. They engaged me in conversation. I gave them my address. A few days later, they knocked on our door and asked me to come out and play. Oh, boy. My mom and I answered the door and stood there looking at the two of them as if either they or we were Martians. When the door was closed, my mother said, "What do they want from you?" in a tone filled with suspicion. While my mother and father each had one good friend in Germany, neither of them had a friend of their own in the United States. We only socialized with family.
Also, my mother worked hard to convince me that no one liked me. She told me that anyone who told me anything positive about me only did that because they didn't really care about me. She genuinely believed she was doing something good for me by being generous with her criticisms. I think I told this story before in the blog, but here we go again. My mom moved in with Mike and me in 1983 when she was 81. After a week or two, she said the following to me," I know I shouldn't say this. It isn't good for you. But I am telling everyone what a good daughter you are." It's a combination of German concepts of child-rearing to make sure pride doesn't develop and her personal brand of insanity.
When I was in my 50s, I went back to school to get my Master's in Reading. I was invited to join a study group that met in the cafeteria or in someone's home. I joined with relatively little hesitation. I noticed the difference and thought, "Wow! You're coming along nicely."
That I have as many friends as I do here in Hawaii is mostly thanks to Mike. We didn't have friends like the ones I have here in either Princeton or Ohio. This is not only thanks to Mike, who connected with people in amazing ways, but also because it is Hawaii. Hawaii has the ohana spirit. People reach out to each other and include them. I am so grateful I live here. I wouldn't consider moving any place else. If I had to lose Mike, I am in the perfect position to go on with my life with joy, laughter, and love. I hope to be able to continue to improve my social skills and let more people into my life.
This does not mean I am looking for another man to be in my life. I find I am happy to be alone. I'm really delighted. It's not completely new. Again, Mike prepared me. All his trips to Oahu for his work as a spiritual director for the diaconate program and all his trips to San Francisco, where he was studying to be certified as a spiritual director, allowed me to practice being alone and discover I could do it. How considerate was that?
Elsa and I did our morning walk shortly after 6 am before I left at 7 for the 7:30 Bikram class. While driving there, the radio announced the death of a 98-year-old politician. It triggered a surge of sadness. Ninety-eight and 78 don't have much in common, but that 8 in the units place served as a trigger.
I stopped off at Costco on my way home to pick up a few things. There was a couple a few years younger than Mike and me holding hands. Another moment of sadness. So far, it is only moments, and I'm not totally overcome. With any luck, I never will be.
When I got home, I did a load of laundry, unloaded my Costco purchases from the car, worked on Saturday's blog and called Judy. I make daily contact with her. I am fortunate.
Jean, Mike's first wife, called. Mike and I became family with Jean and her second husband, John. I am closer to Jean than I am to my own sister. We love each other and value each other's friendship. Jean spoke about her grief over Mike. She's dealing with it faster than I am. I'm floating from minute to minute. Usually, he would be where I am or planning to come home within a matter of days. Regrets for things we have done or not done seem to be the norm when someone close dies. My regrets don't have to do with how I related to him, yet. They have to do with wondering if I could or should have done something to get him off the fistula for the kidney dialysis sooner. If he hadn't been under so much stress because of it, could he have ducked the pancreatitis?
I have been clearing the house of some of Mike's excesses. How many food storage containers do you need? How many lids without bottoms, and how many bottoms without tops does one need? How many large containers will I need? In a pinch, I think I can probably use two smaller containers to cover such a situation. Most of the stuff in the cabinet went into the garbage. There were a few extra, extra-large containers I put into the bag for donations to Habitat for Humanity.
I hung up the laundry on the outdoor laundry line. A few more loads and I will have cleaned up from my visitors. The four people who were here didn't use as many towels as Damon and August did on one brief visit. When they left then, I counted 14 (fourteen) towels. I thought it was just funny, delightfully funny, mainly because Damon once described Mike as a high maintenance guest because he needed extra pillows. You gotta love it! No, I'm not bothered by the extra work. I love having them. I'm good with them using every towel in the house and then some, as long as they come to visit.
I did some work on Sunday's blog, lay down on the sofa for a nap, did some reading, and got my 1-hour afternoon nap in. I remember being younger and thinking, "I never get tired. I'm so high energy." Guess what! I now know that I was often tired. I just didn't recognize it as such. Now that I'm retired, I see my mental fog moments from a different perspective. I was tired. I love being able to nap now when I feel that way instead of having to power through.
When Elsa and I did our before dinner walk, there was a strong breeze. If there is a good breeze, we are touched by it up here at the 1,000-foot height. I live in an open house. Most of my house can't be closed off against the breeze, or a storm if it gets bad. There are no doors. My main living area, the lanai, which is the home of my dining room table with 6 chairs, three sofas, and three easy chairs, is just screened in. There are no doors between the lanai and the kitchen and what amounts to the other two living rooms. The only rooms that can be closed off are the three bedrooms, Mikes' library, and the bathrooms. This means if there is a breeze, I'm going to feel it. When I take a nap on one of the sofas on the lanai, the feel of the breeze is soothing. Of course, during the hottest, most humid months, if there is no breeze, it is pretty uncomfortable. Fan time. Every room has at least one fan. If nature doesn't provide the breeze, machines will.
I walked Elsa, came home and worked on Sunday's last week and sent it, and started on Monday's.
I watched the final episode of Grace and Frankie, ate dinner of salad, a Mediterranean mix from Costco, packaged noodles and veggies, and some left-over chicken from the funeral that hadn't gone bad yet. I entered more books into Collectorz.com. I entered one book twice, only one of the entries had the wrong publishing date. I tried to find it in the cumulative list, but I couldn't access it. Oh, dear. I wrote John Coughlin that I had a problem and could he find the extra book and remove it from the list.
Elsa and I did our evening walk. I wrote some notes for the day's blog. Then I made ready for bed. I washed my face and brushed teeth. I had resolved not to change the sheets for a year. I don't think so. This will not do. Changing the bed will be another sad event. First off, these are the sheets Mike slept on. Once I wash them, some part of him will be gone. The other problem is it was Mike's job to change the sheets. We have a California King. Wrestling with it is a big boy's job. Too bad, I will have to change the sheets despite my promise not to. I read a little and went to sleep. Good night, Elsa. Good night, Mike.
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