Tuesday, March 7, 2023

 Tuesday, March 7, 2023

I was awake before four am. I dozed, did my exercises, and continued my heart-centered meditation.

    When the alarm went off at 5:30, I got up, dressed, and headed out for my morning walk. I saw Elsa in the corner, eying the doggie door as I dressed. She didn't go out; she walked away. It was the first time I saw her checking out the door when I wasn't looming over her. I still had to go chase her and force her to use it. I don't have to push her out the door anymore. I block her exit. When she looks like she'd rather not, I stomp my foot. That does the trick.  

   Because we were up early, I walked down the hill toward the ocean for the first half of the walk. I caught a spectacular view of the moon shining on the ocean. I started my uphill walk when I reached the bottom of the hill, which is not at the ocean but a dead end two miles from the shoreline. I saved this to the end to see the sun coloring the sky before it rose over the top of the mountain. It was disappointing today. There were dark clouds that didn't allow the glow of the sunlight to penetrate.

   As I turned onto Nehiwa, the school bus for disabled children turned onto the street. I was surprised because he usually comes by around seven to pick up Luke. While the driver always waves when he sees me, he said hello for the first time today. I asked his name, "J.J," and told him mine and Elsa's.

  The accountant's office called. My taxes were ready. The state owed me some money; I didn't owe the federal government an overwhelming amount. I could have a telephone consult with Kitty and pick up the documents whenever I liked. Since I had a twelve-fifteen appointment with the chiropractor right around the corner, stopping off to pick them up from the accountant's office sounded good. When I came in, Kitty asked if I had lost weight. Au contraire! I've been gaining pounds and inches. How is it that I look thinner? Whatever- I'll take it. I had a short, delightful meeting with Kitty and went on my way.

  It only took five minutes to get to the chiropractor's office. There were no available parking spaces. This is often the case. Yvette works in this complex. How does she deal with this problem?. I pulled to the far end, turned around, and waited for someone to leave. It took about ten minutes. I had a space right in front of Lisa's door. Lisa was coming out of a session with another client. She saw me and called out, "You know you're an hour early for your appointment. Yes, I did. I would sit in the open-air atrium and read. She asked if I wanted a pillow. The wood benches were hard. My plan to read didn't last long. I was ready for my mid-morning nap. I sat in my car, turned on the air conditioner, and fell asleep. I set my alarm for twelve-fifteen. I must have slept. When I looked up, Lisa was at the door saying, "Just five more minutes." Lisa's appointments are always long. I got out by two.  

  On the way home, I stopped at Long's to check if they had restocked the Hersey's nuggets with almonds. A man came down the aisle and asked if he could help me. It must have been the manager. I told him what I was looking for. He said he would look in the back. As I suspected, nothing had come in.

  I had planned to stop at Costco. I was too tired. I headed home.

   I was supposed to meet with first-grade Iz and her brother, third-grade J, today. Their mom called to say they would stay with their dad for the week, and he didn't want to do it. This is the first time he will have them for the whole week. Mom's theory was he was feeling overwhelmed. I can well imagine that he would feel that way. Not only is having full-time responsibility for two school-aged kids a big job, but it is also one he hasn't done in a while. I can remember each year at the start of school, adjusting to new circumstances and feeling exhausted until I made the necessary adjustments. New circumstances are always tough.

  In Why Buddhism is Right, Wright talks a lot about the Buddhist concept of emptiness. In what I read tonight, he talked about a lack of essence. Everything has an essence for us. We value things because of what they mean to us personally. The last towel Mike used before he collapsed and died still hangs in the bathroom. It's never been washed. It's been four years since he died. It has an essence for me and no one else.

   On the other hand, the Monday before he died, he lost his essence for me. He was gone. I recognized the man lying in the bed, a nest of tubes sticking out of him, but the man I knew and loved was gone. He wasn't mentally incapacitated; he had surrendered to death. He had given up. Damon and Cylin had told him how well I was taking care of myself without him, and he had no reason to keep fighting. He was exhausted and wanted peace. I sat vigil with a living body until Sunday when I found the courage to take him off life support after he made it absolutely clear that was what he wanted.