When I walked Elsa shortly after 6 am this morning, a huge orange full moon hung in a clear sky. As I completed the walk, walking back downhill toward the ocean, the moon was gone. First, I thought it moved on. Then I thought, no, the earth moved on. As I had that thought, the muscles in my legs switched. I guess that makes sense. When we anticipate a challenge to our balance, our muscles start warming up, so they're ready to make the necessary moves to keep us upright. It was a weird feeling, especially since what I was thinking about was the earth's movement.
My legs had been even when I got up this morning to go to the bathroom. Amazing! When I rolled over on to my belly after the long savasana, I had to pee. I got up partway but needed Heather to haul me to my feet once I got them under me. When I came back to the room, my back was so tight that I couldn't bend it enough to get back down on the floor—the price I pay for progress. I had to leave. I hoped it wouldn't last too long; I had lunch plans with a friend from church. I've already had to cancel several times because I was flat on my back for days at a time. Now, the pain seems to clear more quickly. Thank God. I used the infrared light on my sore muscles and was good to go.
When I got home, I started the laundry with the last of Mike's sweatshirts and long-sleeved shirts. I was planning on giving them all to the homeless. I had called Jean and asked if John would like some of the long-sleeved shirts. She had initially said no; he only wore short-sleeved shirts. Lo and behold, John would love them, well, the dark ones. I set aside one dark one that seems unusually thick. The homeless need warm clothes for sleeping in the winters here. If I need a warm sweatshirt at 6 am, they need even warmer clothes during the night. I guess the homeless will have to settle for Mike's 12 (twelve) sweatshirts (Remember, we live in Hawaii.) The clothing also provides them some softness and protection from critters.
While I napped, Anthony from Toyota called to tell me my car was ready for pick up. I texted Jeff and Deborah to see if one of them can drive me to Bikram tomorrow to get the Prius from Toyota. Both got back to me. Jeff will be picking me up. I have to do something to remind myself not to just leave on my own.
I got the clothes down from the line I put up yesterday and the load in the dryer to get the remaining moisture out. Also, to get the white lint off. I suspect someone washed a tissue. It will be a while before the laundry comes free of the little white specks. I sorted all the clothes that I will be getting rid of: a bag of shirts for John, a large box for the Friendly Place for the homeless, and a smaller box, for now, for Memory Lane. I'll drop the stuff for Memory Lane and the homeless on Monday on my way home from PT.
I had plans to have lunch with Jacqui and her daughter Jackie; mothers and daughters having the same name is a southern thing. The movers were there today. They had anticipated being through by 12, but by 12:30, it was clear they were nowhere near done. We made arrangements for dinner.
I found more sweatshirts on the top shelf and put them in the washing machine for tomorrow's load when I come home from Bikram. I now have empty shelves. I'm going to have to proceed slowly. Once his side of the closet is completely empty- yikes! That hurts.
I drove to Jacqui's house, and she drove all of us to Magic's for dinner. It was her daughter's choice. She will be leaving the island on the 15th for a stopover in NYC to visit her husband's family. Then they both head back to Spain, where they have lived most of their married life and where their children live. Well, actually, they no longer live in Spain. They moved to a small village in the Pyrenees on the French side of the border. The daughter and I did most of the talking over dinner. Our lives overlap a fair amount, literally. She and I were in the same locations, missing each other by a few years.
Can a dog become addicted to food and a ball? I think Elsa is. She doesn't even want to go on walks anymore. She wants to stay home and play with this little multi-colored ball with plastic spikes that lights up when thrown. She also loves Dr. Marty's that I mix in with her regular food and doesn't want to leave until fed.
When I got Elsa from the breeder, she was three. The breeder explained that Elsa was a grazer. It winds up; she's just a fussy eater. She only ate as much of the food as needed to get her through to the next moment when she had to eat to survive. With Dr. Marty's mixed in, she is no longer a grazer; she's a gulper. She scarfs down that food at an impressive rate of speed.
Musings:
I have to repeat this message because it is so vital for those who have lost loved ones:
It is difficult to impossible to get a clear image of the face of a loved one, alive or dead. Jackie, the daughter, actually tried to picture the faces of people she knew well. She experienced what I have been experiencing, recalling Mike's face; all I see is a fleeting glance.
I have finally found an exception to this rule. I can see Mike's face in the moments after he died. It was a face I had never seen before. All the muscles of his face relaxed, and the outline of his bone structure looked chiseled. Since I had only seen that face once, it is easy to remember.
This is because, with those who we have been around a lot, we see so many different faces: different angles, different moods, altered states of health, etc., and variations on all those different states. We don't have a single image. As I have said before, I have a very clear image of Meryl Streep's face, but not Mike's.
I first experience this when my dad died when I was 15. I thought my inability to recall his face was due to grief. There was a colleague in Ohio who lost her husband very young to a heart attack. I heard her expressing concern about her inability to picture his face. It left her wondering what was wrong.
I'm here to tell you one and all: There's nothing wrong with you. You just knew that person too well to have only one face in mind for them.
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