Sunday, April 14, 2019

     I set the alarm for 7 am up by 6:30. I walked Elsa. Whenever I walk her, I always work on changing the way I use my body. I have a spinal curvature and an arthritic hip.  I believe it is a result of injuries compounded by dysfunctional alignment,  causing compensatory movements, which then causes muscles and connective tissue to develop incorrectly and then pain.  To correct my body problems, I do bodywork, yoga, and make efforts to change the way I walk, sit, stand, and move from one position to the next. There is a whole growing field of body mechanics, which I find fascinating.
    Over the last month, I spent several days working on twisting my upper body to correct the spinal curvature. I  pushed my right shoulder back more than is usual as I brought my right foot forward. I'm not just moving my arms; I am moving my whole upper torso in opposition to the entire lower torso and legs.  Right leg and hip forward,  right shoulder and upper torso back; left leg and hip back, left shoulder and upper torso forward.
    Then in the following week, the emphasis switched to my hips. It looks like my left leg is shorter, which it may be because the cartilage is worn down in the left hip.  However, it is also true then when sitting cross-legged, it is clear that my left hip is much higher than my right. That has nothing to do with leg length. I'm concentrating on soft tissue changes.  How much difference can I get just focusing on soft tissue before the bone degeneration calls a halt to my efforts to make changes?  All I can say is," Not yet." Obviously, this work requires patience and a tolerance for very, very small changes. I've been working on it slowly for 23 years.  More so since my injury which severely limited my movement, 14 years ago.   Since then, I have experienced decreased pain and increased range of motion.
    I know the medical profession says arthritis is a result of bone degeneration.  I have been banking on pain being caused by soft tissue malformation rather than bone problems.  I assume I will hit a wall in my range of motion.  So, okay, sitting down and standing up will require more effort than it did at 40, getting down to the floor and up again will also remain a challenge. But, if I can walk several miles, climb stairs and not be in pain, is it worth the risk of a  total hip replacement? No operation can guarantee results.
    I just heard a story recently of a woman who went in for hip pain in her left hip.  The X-ray showed that she had arthritis. The doctors pointed out that her other hip, the one without pain, was actually in worse shape.  The doctors talked her into a double hip replacement.  The person who told me the story said the woman was so glad she had this double procedure.  Really? Does anyone else see a problem with this story?  There is no relationship, been bone degeneration, and pain.
    Sometimes, I talk to family or friends about changing the way they move to relieve pain.  The usual reaction is, "No, I'm fine. I just go to the doctor, and he gives me a shot, and the pain is gone." And, then, their pain comes back.  But that's okay. They go back for another shot.  Problem solved! No, I do not live on anti-inflammatory medication. If I take something once every six months, that's a lot.  And, Yes, I am really not in pain.  I know the difference between being in pain and not being in pain.  I don't always think to take something when I'm enduring pain.  Mike usually had to point out that taking aspirin might help.  I took tons of pills every morning and every night when that back pain hit while I was in Honolulu with Mike for those 5 weeks in the hospital.
I'm writing this trying to get someone to move a little closer to my ideas of curing body aches. I do understand the physical therapists are thinking more about body mechanics and the misalignments and repetitive movements that are frequently the cause of pain.  My progress is over 23 years, but I had to invent the wheel on my own.  I think more people are thinking in terms of body mechanics and the effects of connective tissue damage.  These are the two things I am addressing.  Concern for the role of fascia was new in my lifetime.
    After my focus on my upper body, my emphasis switched to my right hip, which thrusts out to the right;  So the goal is to move that hip more in line with the center of my body.  I worked on contracting the right abdominal muscles to pull my right hip more toward the center as I walked.
    The following week, the emphasis was on my left foot.  The alignment of my foot, ankle, and knee is off.  Now one of the reasons I have a problem is because I suffer from Morton's Toe.  I always thought this had to do with the second toe being longer than the first.  When I finally did some reading on the subject, I learned it has to do with the metatarsal attached to the first toe being shorter than the metatarsal attached to the second toe. When I look at my feet, the metatarsals don't slope down to the pinky toe, starting with the first toe. No, it's a jump up from my first metatarsal to my second, and then there is that slope down to the metatarsal of the little toe.  This means that when I walk, the metatarsal of my second toe strikes before the one of my first toe. When the first metatarsal strikes, my foot rolls in, making me pigeon-toed.
    When I was a child, this resulted in flat feet. My father noticed this problem and hauled me off to a podiatrist.  This doctor was a character.  He was an orthodox Jew who worked on Saturdays.  For those of you who don't know, Saturday is the Sabbath for Jews.  The orthodox can't drive or cook on Saturday from sundown Friday night to sunset Saturday night, no less work at their regular jobs. This doctor worked but refused to touch the money in deference to the law.  My father put 5 dollars on the doctor's desk, which he didn't touch until sundown.  (This was in 1950.
The doctor's fee was $5 without any insurance coverage.) The doctor gave me an exercise. He told me to walk on the outside edges of my feet with ping pong balls clutched in my toes.   He also put me in arch supports. I remember doing the exercise on my living room rug. I suspect I didn't do them very long. But I got the point.   In a few years, I didn't' have flat feet anymore.  I still don't have flat feet, but my left ankle alignment is too far over the inside of the foot.  Over the last week, I made sure to put the weight on the very outside edge of my left foot, approximating what that doctor recommended 70 years ago.  Slowly, I can see my foot alignment change. However, I don't really know how to compensate for that short first metatarsal.  I good stride starts at the back outside of the heel and ends on the first metatarsal then pushing off on the first toe.  I can push off on the first toe, but what do I do about the first metatarsal?
    I always work on what feels right at the time.  It isn't predetermined.  I find that it sequences through my body from top to bottom or bottom to top.  I may be working on my shoulder, and that causes changes in my hip. Then I focus on what I'm doing with my hip. Then my focus switches to my feet. Then it may move back up to my neck or back up to my hip. I feel it's a process of unwinding.
    When I got back home, I did my oil rinse, made Juice Plus smoothie, washed last night's dishes, drank my  2 cups of water while playing FreeCell on the computer. I'm having trouble with Yahoo. It's slow if not dysfunctional all together.  I don't know if it's their fault or my computer's.
    I took a quick shower and rushed off to church for the Palm Sunday service concerned about a full parking lot. I went to St. Michael's today because the hula ministry was performing there. I sat next to Karen, a  woman I met when she came to get a book from Mike's library.  We had a good laugh together. If I can laugh with someone, they are already one of my favorite people in the world.
    Being at St. Michael's for Palm Sunday felt sad. Mike would have been on the altar, reading the Passion of Christ with Fr. Lio.  I feel Mike's worrying about me rather than celebrating what I am doing. He was frequently worried about me. I'm not sure why.  I never thought it had much to do with me, but it was some neurotic tick of his.
    There was a man in the front pew who was debilitated by some disease or incident, like a stroke. He not only looked debilitated but depressed as well. While his wife was well turned out, he was unkempt.  If Mike had lived, it would have been several more months in the hospital and then a good year in recovery from having been on his back for that long.  I was worried he wouldn't do well with it.  After he had been in the hospital for a week or so, he was crying about wanting to stand up.  At one point, he described himself as not being a person anymore.  If he couldn't see himself as a person when he knew he was sick, how was he going to deal with it once he was over the disease and in recovery?  He wasn't going to be back on the altar soon, if ever.  I would have done what I had to do for him and for myself if he assumed a negative attitude. But it would have been hell for both of us.  I also worried that he would add guilt to his soul's burden, guilt about what his limited condition was doing to me.  I can view any of life's events as an adventure.  I think I would have been not merely fine, but downright joyful if he had been able to accept his condition, worked for his recovery, and discovered a new him and a new us.  
    I called Jean. We talked about Mike. I told her about that debilitated man I had seen in the church and wondered how Mike would have done with a long, slow recovery.  If he had lived and been morose, and unwilling to work,  it would have been an unpleasant life for both of us.  I can imagine him wishing he was dead. Of course, he could also have changed and grown.
    When he counseled Judy on how to deal with her cancer and the chemotherapy she had to go through from a spiritual perspective, he said there were four mental states which had to be achieved: acceptance, cooperation, humility, and docility.  I have my own thoughts on what all of these mean in the context of dealing with life's challenges, but the only one Judy and I have discussed at length is docility. In the spiritual context, docility doesn't carry the same meaning as it does in common usage.  In common usage, it evokes images of lambs being led to slaughter without protest.  The root word of docile is the Latin 'to learn or be easily taught." I don't think this means being so smart that you learn facts quickly.  It means that you are willing to approach life's uncomfortable circumstances as an opportunity to learn something new about life and about yourself. If Mike had lived, we would have had to learn to see ourselves as different people from the ones we were before.  We would have learned new things about ourselves, each other, and life.  That can be pretty scary. Circumstances often expose things to us; we would rather not know.
    I got a message from Damon and Cylin;  they were on their way to a Dodger game.  I called them back.  I was surprised that Cylin was going to the game instead of August.  I was told that August had an event with friends, and Damon couldn't find anyone else to go with him. How's that for self-sacrifice?
    I sat down to drink my Juice Plus smoothie, my afternoon breakfast drink, and I worked on the blog. Yvette came up to pick up her laundry and spent a few minutes talking.  She mentioned she had read about my problems with changing the sheets.  Part of the problem was the loss of Mike; the other problem is that Mike always made the bed, which is a California King. Making it is an athletic event. She offered to help me make it.  I quickly realized that I'm not ready to let go of the disillusion that he may be coming back.  Let them be dirty.  I just was not prepared to make that change. While she was here, we talked about scheduling another dinner.
    After she left, I went down for what wound up being a 3-hour nap. I read some of the Sunday NY Times before I fell asleep.  When I got up, I ironed a sheet, played some FreeCell, and then worked on the blog.  I tried to add an entry to the existing email thread.  It wouldn't go through.  I realized that the thread was too long. I started a new one.
    The day had started out cool.  I was in sweat pants and a sweatshirt.  By late afternoon, I had to strip down to shorts. I walked Elsa after doing more work on the blog.  This is still taking a lot of time, but it is time well l spent since it makes me feel better.  I still have my own two books to finish and Mike's book to edit and send to a publisher.
    I walked Elsa, had dinner, watched tv, and cataloged books.  I walked Elsa again before going to bed, washed my face, brushed my teeth, went to bed, and then said, "Goodnight, Elsa. Goodnight, Mike."

Saturday, April 13, 2019

    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."

Friday, April 12, 2019

    I woke up in the middle of the night because I had to pee. I was confused about where I was. I thought for a moment that I was on a meditation retreat.  I guess my mind made up an explanation for why I am sleeping alone in my own bed for so long.  

    The experience of sleeping without Mike while he was away and now when he is not coming back at all reminds me of when I gave up smoking.  I did several experiments to determine how giving up smoking would make me feel before I actually did it.  At the time, I was a 2 pack a day girl, generally Marlboros, who had been smoking for 19 years.  In one experiment, I  gave up for cigarettes for a month.  I promised myself that I would smoke after that month was up.  When the month was nearly up, friends said," What are you doing? You've already done it for a month. Keep going. Keep going." I said, "No. I promised myself that I wouldn't.  I don't lie to myself."  

    I am a believer in the body's intelligence and the intelligence of the nonconscious mind.  One of my yoga teachers talks about the marriage of the body and the mind and then says, "It's mind over matter." His idea of a good marriage is very different from mine.  I want a marriage where both people have an equal right to have their needs met.  I want a marriage with mutual respect. That's what I had with Mike.  I love being that way with anyone.  I love being that way with myself.  I respect the different voices in myself.  I understand that each voice is expressing a need.  Do I just follow any one of those voices blindly? No, I have to determine whether the expressed need is harmful for myself and others. That's a priority.  Next, is it beneficial for myself and others?   I use 'and' instead of 'or' deliberately. I believe if it's not beneficial for both parties, it's probably not the best course of action.  Best for everyone needs to be defined. It doesn't mean that someone's feelings might not be hurt.

    Mine were terribly hurt by something my sister said to me.  But it was her truth. I learned and grew.  I think it was one of the best things she's done for our relationship.  Did it work out perfectly for our relationship? Absolutely not.  But I suspect it was an essential thing for her to do as it was important for me to be the recipient of what she had to say.  In terms of our relationship: I just have to accept that we can't spend a lot of time with each other.  We have chosen very different paths for dealing with life. Each one has worked reasonably well.  Neither of our lives is a disaster. However, the two approaches to life leave us unable to create a mutually comfortable situation except for short periods, like 2 hours alone together and just somewhat longer while in the company of others.  It makes me very sad that this is the case, but I have accepted it as such.

    I had an interesting experience as a result of my smoking experiment. That month of not smoking was easy.  No withdrawal, no drama. When I finally gave it up for good, it was not so easy.  After the third week, I was experiencing serious withdrawal symptoms.  My nonconscious mind, or my body-mind, understood the difference.  The only difference was my intention to go back to smoking or to give it up forever. Very interesting.  Those times when Mike was away on diaconate activities were like that one month when I gave up smoking. It was relatively easy. So far, some part of me still seems to believe Mike's absence is temporary.  I have moments of sadness. I expect to encounter some bumps in the road, but  I am still optimistic that I will be okay in the long run. I'm curious about who I will become. I'm also a little scared.

    I got up at 5:50 and did a quick walk with Elsa. Then I  called the Mercer County Court in Princeton to check on their required documentation for securing Mike's bank account. I don't think I got an answer to my question. The probate clerk just told me that I must do what the institution demands regardless of what is possible.  The legal department at Raymond James is finally doing research on it now.  I am furious. They made me think my lawyer was incompetent, incapable of understanding what they were saying.  But they were the wrong ones, and I had to do the research myself. Prejudice. Kailua Kona is a small town in a rural area in a state that is still considered a third world county. My lawyer was a young woman in private practice versus an east coast lawyer working for a big corporation.  What do you think? Sounds like a good case for bias to me. 

    I called Raymond James to check on my credit cards and give them the information I got from calling my local court. Boy, am I confused. Our financial advisor said I do have one card that is in my name exclusively, but the account numbers she had were unfamiliar to me. Oops!   Were there more credit cards out there?  Did I have to cancel all my credit cards immediately? She called the credit card company and discovered that they didn't update her when credit cards numbers were changed.  She told me which one was mine.  I went to find that one and set the rest aside.  

    Because of the time on the phone, I didn't do the dishes or my oil rinse before yoga.  As I was driving to Bikram, the radio announced a winter storm watch for the summit of Mauna Kea. We're talking snow in mid-March.  

    When I got home from Bikram, I hand-washed my Bikram clothes and hung them on the line. I don't have enough clothes to run a full load yet.  I thought I have to ask Yvette if she would throw my clothes in with hers when she does a load on my machine. Otherwise, I will run out of panties.  Yvette has a lot of laundry to do.  She is a massage therapist and has a mountain of sheets and towels to do regularly.

    I showered. While I boiled the water for my soup,  I  did MELT and used the Tiger Stick. I used the left-over water to do my' weeding', pouring boiling water on unwanted greens. I did some work on the blog, taking breaks by getting my dry laundry off the line and ironing, and then back to work again while listening to the NPR classical music station.    

    The head of Science Camps of America here in Hawaii called to tell me that Elijah had gotten into the Air and Space program for this summer. I called Elijah to give him the news and then his mom to give her the head's up because she was going to have to fill in a registration form.

    I watched Unforgotten on Brit Box through Amazon Prime. I think this is a great show.  It doesn't follow a pattern, so I can't guess the murdered each time correctly.  I cataloged more books. This will be a nightly activity for the better part of a year, if not longer.  

    I walked Elsa, washed my face, brushed my teeth, went to bed, and then said, "Goodnight, Elsa. Goodnight, Mike."

Thursday, April 11, 2019

    Yvette texted me that she had a killer sore throat and would not be going to Bikram. Last night, I  added her leftover salad to what was left in the serving bowl, declaring, "I'm sure you're healthy." Guess not. I threw it out and put all dishes in the dishwasher to be sterilized.  The dishwasher usually serves as a drying rack as I wash dishes by hand.
     I have noticed that both the Bikram studio in Ohio and the one here in Hawaii have a strong sense of community.  I know the names of a lot of people. I asked  JJ about the sense of community in Bikram studios: Is this coincidental or something Bikram encourages?  He was clear.  Bikram is big on cultivating community. He encouraged people to talk to each other before class instead of maintaining a quiet studio.  He encourages pot luck dinners, and pop up parties.  Yvette commented on this. She worked at another studio and didn't have many connections with the people who worked there;  the students didn't seem to relate to each other.  She said at the Bikram studio, she knew at least half of the class by name.  In Yvette's case, she will have had lunch or tea with half of those people. She's about as socially gifted as they come. She was that way as a child, too.
     I went to Costco to return the beer and dishwasher soap. Apparently, I bought the beer 2 ½ years ago,  and the clerk had to clear the dust off the top of the dishwasher soap bottle.  She was protesting, accepting the return.  She was clearly distressed.  You would have thought she was the owner of a small local store.  I said nothing.  I let her work out the argument for herself and was prepared to just go with her decision.  She accepted both items, unhappily, and gave me a gift card for $40. Good thing. I don't have a credit card I can use there because they only take Visa.  I had called the credit card company to inform them of Mike's death, not realizing it wasn't a joint card, and I was just an add on.  So much for that credit card. I ordered a new one right away. I bought a salad and dental chews for Elsa.
    When Yvette and Josh were here for dinner, I told them about my credit card problems, losing every credit card I had with Mike.  I, fortunately, had one on my own, but it's a Master card, not a Visa.   When they heard how many credit cards, Mike had, they said they had one card between the two of them.  I told them, and now tell all of you out there, to make sure that each person in a couple should have one card in their name with the other as an add on.  In other words, Yvette should have a card in her name with Josh as an add on, and Josh should have a card in his name with Yvette as an add on. That way, both spouses are covered should anything happen to the other one.
    As I was standing on line at Costco, Shelly, my therapist, called. Here I thought it was Wednesday. There was no way I could make it home before our hour was up. I had to make another appointment.      
    I got a text from Yvette; she was off to urgent care. Too bad, it wasn't strep.  If it were, a simple pill would fix it.  As it was, she had to wait it out.  She says it feels like she is swallowing glass. I hope I don't get it. My throat feels funny.  Of course, it could just be sympathy pains.
    I spoke to Jeff at Raymond James.  They keep talking about my needing the testamentary short form, which declares me as the executor. I had called my lawyer yesterday, but she didn't get back to me.  Maybe I can take care of this myself.  I found the number for Estate and Guardianship in the court and called. The clerk told me that to get that testamentary letter, I would need to go to probate, which costs a chunk of change.  Back to Raymond James,  They keep saying I need this other document, and no, I don't have to go to probate to secure it. My lawyer and the courts say otherwise.  Round and round and round and round and round. Oh, this is so much fun. It's like playing whack a mole. Each insists the other doesn't get it. I'm finally coming down on my lawyer's side because I backed up her story with the court.
    I showered, did MELT, and used the Tiger Stick. Am I  a good girl, or what?  I completed an entry from last week. I was exhausted and took a nap. I woke up after an hour, not bad for me, who prefers 3-hour naps.  I did some ironing, wrote a little more, and got to work on the car insurance. I had to drop Mike's name. The insurance agent didn't ask me why.  I finally said he died. She told me she knew because she had seen it in the newspaper.  This lady was so nice and so helpful. Dropping Mike's account hurts. I had to call T-Mobile to cancel his phone, too. There's a finality to these cancellations. It means he's not around somewhere needing car insurance and the use of his phone. He's really not around. Funny, the things get through to me.
    Did some incidental ironing while the sun was up using solar panel electricity.   It started raining once or twice while I was doing other things.  When there is a breeze here, the rustling of the palm fronds can sound a little like rain.  But after living here a while, boy, do I know the difference between the two. The moment raindrops start falling, I'm on the alert if I have my Bikram stuff out there on the line.   I know I'm going to need that for tomorrow's class, and I'm up and out the door to get them off the line. Other items? Eh, who cares. They'll dry eventually.
    I worked on Saturday's entry. I took Elsa on her late afternoon walk and picked up the mail on my way back in to the house. There was an  invitation from the Office of Vocations addressed to Mike and me to invite us to the ordination to the priesthood of two men Mike worked with closely. I can't think of an ordination he would rather have attended.  It made me sad to think he would miss it, and the two men would miss him being there. He had so much to live for, so much living left to do. As I said in his eulogy, losing him was like losing a young person with their whole life ahead of them. Mike was getting bigger, doing more, enjoying more. This makes me sad. I hope he is happy.  If he's happy, I can be happy. When I think he regrets dying, it makes me very sad.
    I didn't write notes for the late evening. I can only assume I ate dinner, and cataloged books while watching TV.  I walked Elsa, washed my face, brushed my teeth, went to bed, and then said, "Goodnight, Elsa. Goodnight, Mike."

Wednesday, April 10, 2019

    I decided to skip Bikram today. It always leaves me tired by midday, and I wanted to get all the credit cards taken care of.  Mike had 12 credit cards in his name, some with me as an add-on. I had one in my name, thank God, because otherwise, I would be without a credit card now. I called all the companies not only to cancel the cards but also to claim reward points or miles. I was wonderfully organized.  Mike would have been so proud of me.  I put all the cards with the paperwork and called each credit card company and when appropriate, airline company to get the miles.  It took me hours.  While I didn't think of it at the time, I was erasing Mike. I'm more aware of that happening. His footprint in this world is shrinking.  I can almost feel it happening. It's one thing to not have him here right now; it's entirely another to have no evidence that he's out there somewhere in the world and will come back to me soon. I'm often surprised by what affects me.

    I had done my morning routine before I did battle with the credit cards, walking Elsa, washing the dishes, and doing the oil rinse,  I also did some work on the blog, but most of the day was devoted to making calls.  

    I called the department responsible for the information release forms at Kaiser.  They said they sent me the form I needed to get Mike's prescription account information on January 28, but I never received it. They told me it had been sent by email.  I searched under Kaiser, but nothing came up. They said they would send it again, but again nothing came through.  I called and told them.  Their system was down. Can you imagine a system for an essential unit, like the department responsible for releasing medical information being down? What happens if someone needs that information immediately to save their life? Finally, the form came through under 'HRoi.' I searched for that address, and sure enough, the form had come through before. I assumed it was an ad for something. There was no mention of Kaiser on the address. Really?

 I need to fax the death certificate and the trust document to all these credit card departments and Kaiser.

      It's a good thing I didn't go to Bikram; I would never have made through the day.

Besides not needing a nap midday, I could get the calls in while the offices were still open on the east coast.  Living in Hawaii can create problems. At this time of year, there is a 6-hour difference between here and the east coast. When it's 10 am here, east coast offices are closed.  I only have a small window in which to make all these phone calls. I couldn't reach two of the credit card companies because it was too late.

    I took a nap after I made more calls. I did a little work on the blog and some reading, finishing a book and a bit of the NY Times.

    Elsa and I did our before dinner walk.  I usually shower when I come from home from Bikram at about 9:30 am. Today I took my shower right after taking Elsa on her before dinner walk.  I was good and did the MELT and the Tiger Stick, which was a gift from Mike. This was one of the best gifts he gave me.  He always tried to get me something he thought I would like. Usually, he missed unless it was something I already used.  Maybe I'm hard to please with gifts. I don't think I generally care for surprise gifts; Christmas is not my favorite holiday. However, I was often absolutely delighted when he remembered something I needed at the store, whether I directly asked him or not.   

    This Tiger Stick was one gift that hit the spot, although I didn't use it for quite a while.  I think it was his recognition of my love for working on my own body instead of going the AMA path, or at least starting with the AMA path. I finally placed the stick with the MELT balls instead of somewhere else. So I'm using it every time I do the MELT.  I use it differently than the way you're supposed to. I don't roll the stick up and down my body, I  saw it back and forth across my leg perpendicular to the bones, pulling on the flesh to break down the dehydrated connective tissue.  The most substantial response is in the left calf muscle when I pull on the tissues just above the left knee.

    Yvette had proposed having dinner together tonight. She and Josh arrived at 6:30 pm. on the dot.  Yvette brought asparagus and bread, and a spicy tomato sauce.  The salmon was from my freezer, and Yvette pulled out some pasta from our pantry. Josh prepared the salmon on the barbeque while Yvette made the asparagus and the pasta.

    Over dinner, I spoke to Josh about checking our homeowner's insurance.  Because of what I heard about a man whose house burnt down who had to produce blueprints of his house before he could get full coverage. I also told him about the electric meter being changed.   I proposed that the bill might have been that low last month because of a problem with it. It was he who pointed out that most of our ohana was missing in action for the month, and the electric company thought it was a meter problem.

    I asked Josh to check an unopened case of beer for its sell-by date. It was heavy and sitting on the floor.  Bending down that low is not my strong suit.  He couldn't find one, so he moved it to the back of my car, so I could return it to Costco. 

    The food was delicious. The asparagus was out of this world.  I don't think I have ever had such excellent ones so perfectly prepared. There was lots of laughter.  I said to them, "And you find me funny." Yvette said, "And I like you." The kids went down to their quarters, leaving me to do the dishes, my usual role. I moved into the library to watch TV. I had rice pudding for dessert and made notes for the day's blog entered books into Collectorz.com. 

    I walked Elsa, washed my face, brushed my teeth, went to bed, and then said, "Goodnight, Elsa. Goodnight, Mike."

Tuesday, April 9, 2019

    I got up and walked Elsa. When I came home had my requisite two cups of water while I started investigating how I can get a copy of my marriage certificate.  On the 23rd, I will be having a phone interview with the Social Security Department to confirm my relationship with Mike so  I can claim his social security benefits, which are higher than the ones I get. Stupidly, I sent in a copy of our marriage certificate to another branch of the SS department that wanted evidence of our relationship so it can issue Mike’s March check to me.  For March, we should both get our individual checks because Mike was alive on March 3.  The SS department had issued the check, but our Raymond James sent it back because his account as already closed down. When the bank is informed of a death, they immediately shut down the account, so all incoming and outgoing transactions are canceled. I jumped right on this before I had considered the consequences.  However, in our case, it wouldn’t have made much difference. Our financial advisor was well aware of Mike’s condition, and when he died. We were not anonymous in that organization.

    I thought I was going to need another marriage certificate because I sent the first one without making a copy. Good work, girl.  When I looked up the information on the Vital  Records site, they wanted $100 for a marriage certificate. If I went directly to the Princeton Township site, it was only $25.  I called the Princeton Health Department. The clerk guided me to the Princeton site so I could fill out their application.  I had to provide proof of our marriage. Huh? Isn’t that what the marriage certificate does? What other proof do I have? The clerk asked if I had any documentation from the venue. I have the document we created that we had all the participants sign.  It wasn’t a big group.  But it says nothing about where we were married or for that matter that we were even married.  It talks amount stepping into the stream of tradition, which we did after living together for 9 years. Will that do?   I realize as I’m typing here, that we were also married in the Catholic church after I converted and before Mike was ordained.  Maybe the church has some record of our marriage. I’ll check just to be aware of my options.

    I cleared some items that Mike had lying around casually on top of his bureau. There was one of those travel purses. It was mostly empty but decided to look through it carefully. I found a certified copy of Mike’s birth certificate. I was going to order another one. That would have been a mere $125.  I am expecting the SS to mail back the documentation I sent them, Mike’s birth certificate, death certificate, and our marriage certificate.  But when? 

    I grabbed some pretzels as I headed out the door to Bikram. After yoga, I went to the bank to cash the remaining checks, one of which was a donation to Mike from a deacon. I dropped that off at the church and checked that the donations I gave were recorded as donations from me for tax purposes, and they were also credited as donations in Mike’s name.  The total donations that had already come in were over $12,000. With what I brought in, it would be over $13,000.  I’m invested in how much money is being collected in Mike’s name. What can I tell you? 

    Yesterday while I was at the parish office, I asked if Fr. Lio would be interested in having  Mike’s framed diploma in Theology from Catholic University. Today, I got my answer, “Yes!” I had thought they could hang it in the room where he taught Bible study. The office staff told me he is planning to find a place for it in the new parish house they will be building. I was so excited, I called Damon right away to tell him.  Mike was so proud of his accomplishment.  I am glad that it will continue to receive recognition.  Damon didn’t answer his phone, so I called Judy to share the good news. Later in the day, I called Fr. Lio to tell him how thrilled I was that his diploma was going to be hung on church property. I suppose sometime in the future, a new pastor will be assigned to the church who doesn’t have any idea who Mike was, and the parishioners who knew him will be dead or incapacitated, and the diploma will be taken down.  But I will be one of the people who is gone.  Hopefully, I won’t know anything about the final disposition of his diploma.

    On my way home from church,  I stopped at the vet to pick up food, pill pockets, and heartworm meds for Elsa.  When I got home, showered, did MELT and used the Tiger Stick, washed my Bikram stuff, and hung it up on the line to dry.  Then, I made my morning soup and worked on the blog while I drank it.

    I called SS about the marriage certificate, asking them if they could tell me when they were going to send it back to me.  I explained that I had this telephone interview on the 23rd and would need it then. The guy said he couldn’t tell me when they would send it back.  It depended on when a clerk got around to entering my information into the computer. There must be piles and piles of comparable letters. He said once it was entered, the telephone interviewer would have access to the information.  He said to keep the telephone appointment on the 23rd and figure it out from there if they didn’t have the information recorded, or I hadn’t gotten all the certificates back yet.

    I was tired and wanted to take a nap. I did some ironing first, so it had time to dry, and I could get another one in after I got up and before the sun was too low for the solar panels to produce electricity.   I love being retired, and at home, so I can go down for a nap whenever I feel tired. I don’t have to power through anymore. Napping and housekeeping are two new hobbies of mine now.

    Yesterday a package arrived from Cylin with presents for Elijah and Sariah.  I called B. to tell him I put them on the front hall table and to pick them up whenever he wanted to.

    I woke up from my nap with huge bites on the fleshy parts of my body, my rear end and thighs.  I get them from sleeping on the sofa. I finally figured out that if I get them, it is time to vacuum it.  I believe spiders make their home in the cushions and feast on me.

    Mike used to say I got these bites because I worked outdoors.  Before we moved here, he had grand plans of being Farmer Ross. He and I would work together in the garden. When he got here, he discovered there were centipedes and mosquitos in Hawaii.  He hired a gardener on the spot. 

    I woke up hearing someone yell, “Hello!”  I said, come on in.  I was just waking up from my nap and not interested in getting up yet.  The man said he was here from the electric company to change my meter. We had a very low electric bill last month. Josh thinks they think there was a problem with the meter rather than three out of 5 property residents were in Oahu at the hospital.    

    I quickly ironed another sheet before Judy came over to visit.  As I was ironing, I  heard rain and ran out to get Bikram stuff off the line.  Whenever there is a breeze, the rustling of the palm fronds sounds somewhat like rain. Mike and I were confused for quite a while. Now, I know the difference after the first few drops. The rhythm is different.

    Judy came, and we yakked for over an hour.  Our minds are similar, and we love discussing and sharing ideas. After she left, I made a few more blog entries, and then I walked Elsa. When I came home, I sat down to write again. Josh came in the door with a large-sized pizza box.  

    Yvette had pushed for pizza, and he was offering me a slice. Could I have two? The pizza was still slightly warm. Time to drop everything and make dinner.  I ate the last of the salad I had prepared and the two slices of pizza.  One slice would have been just fine.  Then I got to work on the books, cataloging them.  I watched the rest of the Martin Clunes series Manhunt.  Clunes is one of Jean’s favorite actors.  She’s got me watching everything he ever did.

    I’ve got these last lines down to copy and paste: I walked Elsa, washed my face, brushed my teeth, went to bed, and then said, “Goodnight, Elsa. Goodnight, Mike.”

Monday, April 8, 2019

    I had a nightmare that Mike left me for another woman. This was combined with another nightmare where I’m frantically looking for a bathroom. I’ve had both nightmares before.  In the past, when I had the nightmare of Mike leaving me because he decided he didn’t like me anymore. When I told him about it, he would laugh and look at me with his loving eyes.  He knew my mother told me that no one liked me regularly, and anyone who told me they did or said anything nice about me only did so because they didn’t really love me.  

    Just in case I start thinking my mother was entirely off the wall, I have two fairly close relatives who don’t like me.  One told me that she thought, “My self-awareness was narcissist, my awareness of others was predatory, and I was dangerous for children.” And, oh yes,  I was other-directed, and she thought we should confine our contact with each other to family events, like weddings and funerals.  This is a relative I liked and loved.  How’s that for a kick in the pants. Guess Mom had a point.  Life can be so much fun. Fortunately, the man I had been living with for over thirty years didn’t see me that way. Because I was concerned that I was doing things that were harmful to children, I checked with my teacher colleagues to see if there were any harmful results of my work. They all consoled me.  

    However, some good came out of it. It led me to set my boundaries more firmly, for my benefit as well as the benefit of others.  If this person is out there seeing me this way, there must be others. What I got out of it was she is uncomfortable with me.  Now, I run like all get out when I see any signs or symptoms of that response to my personality. I think we’re all better off for my restraint.  It took me years of grieving to make an adjustment to my new reality with this family member.  I remain sad but see no way to resolve the situation that can be mutually satisfying. You can see why I might have occasional nightmares that someone I love and rely on really doesn’t like me. 

    The bathroom nightmare is another one.  I was frantically looking for one, so I could join Mike at some sort of gathering or conference we were both attending.  You cannot believe the variety of dysfunctional toilets my mind has invented both in their basic structure and their functioning. I look forward to the day I find one in my dream that I feel comfortable using.  I guess it will be time for rubber sheets. 

      I got up, walked Elsa, washed the dishes, did my oil rinse, and went to Bikram.  I had an awkward conversation with one student who was trying to reach out to me but was so filled with assumptions about my situation, it didn’t go well.  I’ve initiated conversations like that myself. I think I would enjoy this woman’s company under normal circumstances. I went inside the room and asked Shelly, another Bikram student, for a hug. Not because of my awkward conversation but because of my dream that morning. I have a supportive community at the yoga studio.

     I went to the bank to cash the checks that were made out to me. I was concerned that they had shut down the joint account in Mike’s and my name.  The clerk was a little disturbed by the number of checks.  Really, she’s never seen anything like that before?.  I explained that my husband had died, and these were checks people had sent to me. No worries. She cashed them. 

    I immediately drove to the church to drop off all the money people had sent me in my name or in cash.  I donated everything I got in condolence cards to St. Michael’s debt reduction. The office was closed. It only opened at 10 am.  I stuffed the over $800 back in my purse and drove home.

    When I got home, I showered and sat down to play FreeCell and wrote Raymond James about something. It was probably more back and forth and back and forth about the Affidavit for Collection versus the Executor Short Certificate.  Then I sent Dorothy a picture of mom and dad dancing. I had shown her the picture when she was in Honolulu, visiting Mike in the hospital. She asked me if I could send it to here.  When Damon, Cylin, and August came out for the funeral, I had August, our family one-man Genius Bar, move the picture to my desktop so I could attach it to an email. 

    The picture was taken before they had kids. I don’t know if it is from Germany or during the three years after mom arrived in the US before they had me.  Just love it! They look like they’re in love with each other.  I think they were.  I know my father continued to love my mother for the rest of his life.  After my father died, my uncle, his brother, told me the following story.  He had actually asked my father how he could stand to live with her.  She was in a constant state of hysteria; it would be called PTSD now. She came by it honorably.   My father’s response was an almost helpless, “I love her.”

    I ironed a few pillowcases.  Yes, I always iron the sheets and pillowcases. I’m not so fussy about my clothes.  Mike liked to say wrinkled was my personal look.  

    I did some more work on the blog. Then I looked at my phone and noticed I had 6 voicemail messages I hadn’t listened to yet.  Most were from parts of the world where I know no one. But,  I discovered that there were some old ones from Mike that I hadn’t erased. I listened to one.  He had called me from Oahu.  He explained that he hadn’t been able to call me the night before because he left his charger in the diaconate office, which was locked overnight, and he ran out of juice.  He told me to call him back and that he loved me.  Boy, did I need to hear that after this morning’s dream!  It wasn’t weird hearing his voice, which is weird. 

    I drove back to the church for hula practice.  I am planning to join the hula ministry.  Before I joined the group, I dropped off the money I picked up from the bank that morning for donations to the church to Susan. She had sent me a condolence card with a very sweet message.  I thanked her.  I read each and every one of the cards.  Some were special, referring to some experience they had with Mike. I saved one and all.  They are sitting in a basket that the church provided the day of the funeral.  I will be keeping them for a while. 

    While I was at the parish office, Susan said they still had  Mike’s framed Catholic University diploma in Theology.  I asked if Fr. Lio would be interested in having it.  What was I going to do with it? Take it out of its frame, roll it up and stuff it into a tube where it would stay until I died. Then someone would find it and throw it out. 

    I left the office and went around to the south lanai of the church and participated in the hula practice, just following the other dancers. They worked on two lovely gentle dances.  I hung on in there pretty well. These two dances seem easier, less complicated than the one I learned for the funeral.  Although it may be the case that I now had nothing to lose.  I wasn’t rehearsing for an upcoming performance.  There was one dancer whose hands I just loved.  Hawaiian dancing is a little like Indian dancing with its emphasis on arm and hand movements.  

    Judy had called while I was videoing one of the hula dances so I could practice it. I cut her off immediately and spoke to her on the speakerphone as I drove home from the church. We can talk forever.  She is doing somewhat better today or at least had been earlier in the day.  She was having terrible problems getting food down. Everything was tasteless at best and chemical tasting at worst.  Also, she was tired. She asked me to do some work on her.  (I’m a healer.)  I volunteered to come to her house.  She said no, she wanted to come to mine.

    I told her about my dream/nightmare. She laughed and assured me that Mike adored me, which I know with my mind – or he was one of the best actors on the planet.  I also asked her if the blogs were coming through.  She said she’s been reading and enjoying them. She says I have a gift for writing about the mundane in interesting ways.  I guess I find the mundane interesting.  Everything is fascinating to me.  This mindset keeps me endlessly amused.  I say my mind is my favorite toy. 

    As I was leaving the church to go home, I got a call from Elijah asking me to help him with a math problem.  I told him I would call him back.  First, I walked Elsa and then I called him.  It came out he wanted help with quadratic equations.  I’m lucky I remember the term.  I haven’t done one of those since my freshman year of college.  I would need a refresher course myself.  I wouldn’t mind doing that.  While I didn’t do that well on the math section of the SATs, I enjoyed it. 

    I still had some checks from other sources than condolence cards. When I sorted through them, I discovered there was one from one of the deacons that I meant to give the church.  I was going to have to go back to the bank and drop it off at the church the next day..   

    I had picked up the mail on my way back from my walk with Elsa.  There was a letter from the New Jersey State Pension Plan telling me that I was entitled to retirement benefits.  When Mike applied for his benefits, he designated me as his beneficiary.  That meant that he got less money monthly as he would have gotten if he hadn’t.  I then learned that after he claimed benefits for ten years, I would no longer be able to receive them.  I thought, wow, that was dumb.  Mike started receiving his benefits early and easily outlived that 10 year period.  When it was my turn to claim retirement benefits from NJ, I didn’t list a beneficiary so I could claim the whole amount. There was little question in my mind that I would live another ten years.  Both of us lived beyond those 10 years, so I wasn’t expecting to get money through Mike’s retirement fund. Guess what! I was wrong. I got a letter today telling me that I will be receiving money. Yeah! 

    I did more work on the blog and finished breakfast, my Juice Plus smoothie. I sometimes wind up sipping on it all day till dinner.  I am looking forward to the moment when I’ve caught up with myself on the blog, so I can enjoy writing it even more than I do now.  I am discovering more people who read it regularly.  Really? While I’m delighted, I’m also surprised.  The suspense is gone,  “Will he or won’t he live?”  That question has been answered. There is no more follow up to Mike’s life, and most of the information on mine is on my daily activities.  I suppose there is a question here too, “Will she or won’t she have a satisfying life after her husband’s death?” 

    At church yesterday, the gospel reading was on “He who is without sin can cast the first stone.”  For those of you who are not familiar with it, it is the story of a woman who was accused of committing adultery.  The elders of the temple were going to stone her to death. (The priest saying the mass pointed out that she must have had a partner in her crime.  Where was he?)  Christ intervened.  He stopped the elders from stoning her to death with the quote from above. The men walked away, one by one. The priest also pointed out another interesting point: the men gathered for the stoning as a mob, but left one by one as individuals following their own consciences.  There are many interesting points.  However, the priest said that Christ turned to the woman finally and said, “Go forth and sin no more.” I think the priest was saying that by experiencing the loving forgiveness of Christ, making the moral choice would follow as day the night. 

    I don’t see it.  Love and forgiveness relieve us from shame.  Shame serves a positive function when it is a matching force for our worst impulses, putting the brakes on to stop us from following them.  Shame serves a negative function when it prevents us from looking at ourselves calmly so we can heal.  Christ’s relieving shame is step one, as far as I’m concerned. Step two is the actual healing, which is now possible.

    I have considerable experience with the Buddhist meditation practice, Vipassana, also known as Mindfulness Mediation.  That discipline says there are two important aspects to healing: equanimity and awareness.  These two forces have to be balanced. Awareness is our awareness of ourselves.  In the case of this mediation, it believes that all that is good and bad about us shows up on the body in the form of sensation.  I recognize the truth of that.  I know shame, anger, fear show up on my body before they show up in my mind.  My mind recognizes these feelings and labels them accordingly, often making the sensations more intense.  The mediation practice proposes that if you can observe these sensations calmly, without labeling, they will subside.  So relief from shame, which Christ offers, is only one part of the healing process. Then there are the underlying feelings that generated shame, anger, and fear that promote those negative impulses in the first place.  A negative impulse is often the distortion of a positive one. I don’t believe all our automatic impulses are negative.  I know there is another belief in Christianity that one can pray to God to heal the soul.  This  Is a passive activity that can wind up looking a lot like the Buddhist mediation practice.  You view yourself though Christ’s loving, compassionate eyes.  Deep healing can occur this way.  I like combining the two procedures.    I think  Christianity believes that God comes down to earth and heals us.  Buddhism believes that it is man’s job to heal himself through calm observance to he can reach God.  

    Coincidentally, I’m reading CS Lewis’s Mere Christianity, which I came across when I was going through Mike’s library, entering books into the CollectorZ program.  I just read the chapter on Christianity and Psychoanalysis.   He says that Christianity focuses on moral choices.  We always work to become better people, more ethical. (Of course, that means very different things to different people.) Psychoanalysis does not require that someone focus on making moral choices.   I don’t see how one can be a happy person without focusing on moral choices.  If all you focus on is your own happiness, without regard for the happiness and wellbeing of others,  . . . . actually, I can’t imagine how barren a life like that must be.  Mike has said that some people don’t have a “moral imagination.” This doesn’t necessarily mean that they are immoral or amoral.  They just follow the basic legal rules of society and don’t think much beyond that. And then, some have too much moral imagination and feel guilty about everything. 

    I heard somewhere, in one of the books I read or lectures I heard, that even serial killers think of themselves as basically good people that did something bad.  The need to see ourselves and the groups we identify with, as basically good, is very strong.  Can everyone be a good person?  I sure hope so. Some refuse to look at the evidence of their own behavior and the results of their behavior, as in, “By their fruits you will know them.”  Have people benefitted from contact with us or are they unchanged or even worse off? Can we measure ourselves by our worst failures or our best successes?  I think it is better to look at the whole picture, the data, the statistics.   The need to see ourselves as good people sometimes blinds us.  

            The relative I mentioned earlier punched a hole in my self-image. While there were many who were actually shocked by her image of me and totally disagreed, there has to be some reality out there at least for her, that’s worth considering.  Unfortunately, people like her are unwilling to discuss their needs and negotiate. She thinks I should know what she needs.  Nothing much I can do with that.  I don’t know. I give up.  But neither am I subjecting myself to such an unclear situation where I am always wrong but am expected to do it correctly without feedback as if her idea of the ‘ correct way to interact’ is some universal truth.  I know we all wish that our truth was the universal one and everyone conformed appropriately, but it’s not.  I had enough of that Kafkaesque situation with my mother, where I was always wrong but never told what the correct way was. I was supposed to just know. Really???

    I don’t think life can go very well for folks who always get their way and never consider others.  I am reminded of what Freddie Mercury said to his Queen bandmates after he returned to the group after striking out on a solo career.  He said the musicians he hired for his solo act did everything exactly as he asked them to, and it wasn’t terrific. We improve when our ideas are challenged. We broaden our scope.  Mike looked for and found a ‘worthy opponent’ in me.  We created a life together.  I think that’s how it’s supposed to be.  Well, that’s how I prefer it. 

    I didn’t write notes for the end of the day for this entry. While I don’t know if I watched TV, I can be reasonably sure I walked Elsa, washed my face, brushed my teeth, went to bed, and then said, “Goodnight, Elsa. Goodnight, Mike.”

Sunday, April 7, 2019

    I stayed in bed till 8 because I was going to church at 10 instead of Bikram.  I was awakened when the phone rang. I saw Ross on the display and assumed it was Jean. It was Damon on a Sunday hike. Cylin was meeting with their good friend Eddie for brunch, and August was doing his homework.

    I walked Elsa, and I did some cleaning in the library in anticipation of Ace coming over to scan more of Mike's books into Collectorz.com.  Ace was still scanning the bar codes on the more recently published books.  There are 64 more shelves for him to do that essential work. He turns the books without bar codes on their spines for me to enter into the program at my leisure. I had hoped he could tell me what is going on with my version of the program. I can't find the whole collection list on my computer. 

    I showered and did MELT. I finally started using the roller stick, the Tiger Tail, which Mike bought for me.  One of the best presents he ever gave me.  I was planning to use it but never did.  Now I have it set next to my MELT balls, so when I use them, I use the stick right afterward.  My trick of using my shower as a reminder to do MELT and the Tiger Tail is working so far.  It will become routine in no time.  Hopefully, I keep taking showers.

    I called Judy to see what the plans were for church.  I hitch a ride with her and her sister, Paulette, to the Holy Rosary church for the 10 am mass on Sundays. Judy has been feeling worse as the chemotherapy treatments progress. She passed on church again today because she was so tired.   Paulette picked me up.  

    I was hit by a wave of sadness when I got to church. Did Mike have to die?  Could we have done something differently?  Is he okay with being dead? Does he have regrets?  If I knew he was happy, I'd be okay.

    Sitting in front of me in church was the sister of the woman I had met the week before, who told me that her sister had just lost her husband.  Another recent widow. After church, she spoke with me.  She and her husband had had continuing problems with his first wife. They were not as lucky as Mike and I were.  She was in deep despair about the loss of her life partner. She was always on the verge of tears. Wow! Her grieving process was very different from mine. I suggested she think of this phase of her life as an adventure as I am working on doing.   That brought tears to her eyes. They didn't look like happy tears. I'm not sure why I was the way I was, and she was the way she was. I know I loved Mike and loved being his life partner. It was an adventure, one I shared with him.  I think part of it is that I have been prepared for this moment for 45 years. Being someone who lost a parent as a child can do that to you. Then I  had my mother's model of how to deal with it. She was incredible.  

    When my father died, leaving her with two children, she took over the reins and made a life for us.  She was 52, had been a stay-at-home mom and housewife who was pretty much under the thumb of her German husband who had never worked a day in this country. She was looking for a job within a month of my father's death.  She was bad crazy in some ways and good crazy in others. She was a piece of work. While she was difficult, I adored her.

    It is generally believed that Mike wouldn't be doing as well as I am if I had gone first. I think that is true.  He refused to consider the possibility of death, period end of sentence. Generally, I worried ahead of time about things and handled the actual event calmly. He dismissed the possibility of anything going wrong and didn't do as well when something did happen.

            On the other hand, his optimism determined choices we made as a couple that I would never have made. We each made our contribution in our own way.  There are many small ways I allowed him to have his own way much of the time.  They were in areas that were important to him and less important to me.  My level of annoyance was relatively minor, like with his overstuffing the freezer, his library, his polo shirt drawer, the cabinet with the food containers, the rack with the frying pans, etc., etc.  I don't do well with people who are controlling people, and they don't do well with me.  They see me as controlling.  As my niece said, what I control are my boundaries. With Mike, I always felt comfortable.  I sometimes wondered if he sacrificed his comfort for mine. I'd asked him outright if he felt controlled. As it wound up, neither one of us felt overwhelmed or controlled by the other. 

     When I got home, Elsa was waiting at the door for me.  Mike always came in the front door, and I always use the side door.  Elsa used to plant herself with a good view of the driveway and the front door, so she was ready to greet Mike when he came home.  When he entered the house, Elsa was always his first concern.  He picked her up, sat down, and rubbed her belly.  Then the fun began.  He threw balls for her to chase or catch.  These are two activities this girl can do just about endlessly.  If she thinks she has a sucker on the line, forget it.

    I drank my miso soup, wrote some of the blog, and did some ironing. I'd pull an item out of the basket, spray it with water, iron it, and then leave on the board to dry completely.  Two objectives: I do a little ironing at a time and don't push myself to get it all done at once, and I give the item time to dry completely.  If I put it away prematurely, I look forward to finding mold on it the next time I pull it out of the closet.  Then I turn the iron off.  When  I turn the iron on again, I go over the drying item one more time and start on the next item, which is then left to dry.  If the item is big enough, like a sheet, I may do only one section at a time. Besides not forcing myself to do something I rather not do, it forces me to get me up every now and then to do some movement, so I'm not sitting nonstop. 

    I  changed into sit-around clothes and sat down to write. Then it was time for my afternoon nap. Elsa kept barking. There was no one there. I got sick of getting up to check.  I called my friend Carol in Ohio.  She has been suffering from an allergic reaction, I believe, to medications she took for another medical problem. She is covered from head to toe in hives. OMG! Fortunately, one of her daughters lives nearby, and her family is very supportive. I'm so glad she's not all on her own.  After the call, I  read some of the NY Sunday Times and fell asleep.     

    I called Govinda at the Ashram to work out the financial details from my stay.  I had reserved the room at the Ashram for the whole month of March. If Mike had been on the road to recovery, I would probably have had to stay there that long if not longer. Govinda's eyes grew wide when I told him I was going home at the beginning of March instead of the end. He keeps the Ashram running on the money he earns from these rooms.  He said people make reservations for their vacations weeks in advance.  He had blocked out all of March for me, and it was unavailable for other guests.  I proposed that I cover the time I didn't stay. He would charge me for the 4 days I stayed, he would try to rent the room as much as he could, and I would cover the time the room was vacant as a donation. Since my time there for Mike is tax-deductible, I would need a receipt for the time I stayed, a refund for the times he could rent the space to someone else, and receipt for charity donation for times he couldn't fill the room. The last was possible because the Ashram is considered a religious organization and, therefore, a charity.  This seemed more than a reasonable proposal to me.  Besides the room, I had free meals and free access to a washer and a dryer, great supportive company, and when I had guests, Dorothy, my sister for 2 nights, and Yvette for five days, it was without any additional charges for room or board.  This was the least I could do for them.

    I reviewed Monday's blog again.  I called Ace because he hadn't shown up yet.  He explained that he had a hectic morning and wouldn't be making it.  Oh, well. The clean library gives me pleasure.  

    I washed the hallway floor and vacuumed the kitchen.   I am going to have to rewash the kitchen floor. Guests make things dirty.  The vacuum cleaner will sit in the middle of the living room until I get it done. Boy, Mike didn't like my doing that at all at all.  Something was out of place. No, no, no.  However, he finally made his peace with my piecemeal way of working. He figured if I'm actually going to do the work, he had no grounds for complaining about my leaving cleaning tools out to remind me to do it.

    I called Judy and told her about my dream I had about Art Farmer, the jazz musician.  The following story is a long-overdue tribute to the man's character. I am forever grateful both for what he did for me and what he didn't do to me. When I was 16 I went to a jazz bar with a camp friend of mine.  When I went up to the bar to get a non-alcoholic drink, this man approached me and commented on how well I related to the music, how enthusiastic I was.  If anyone thinks I'm enthusiastic now, you should have seen me at 16.  He asked me out. As I mentioned above, I wasn't comfortable with people I didn't know well, mainly men but really anyone. This man was Art Farmer, the famous jazz trumpeter. (For those who want more information on him:https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Art Farmer.) 

    The following year there was a Jazz Festival on Randall's Island off NYC in the confluence of three rivers off Manhattan. I was working in NYC that summer and decided to go. This was in 1957, a different era.  After work, I caught the train up to Harlem, planning to have dinner there so I would be sure to catch the bus on time.  When I got out, I saw a policemen, white naturally, and asked him where I could eat.  He said, not to worry he would take care of me.  He took me to a dinner that was run by and patronized by white people, mostly men.  He spoke to the proprietor behind the counter.  It was clear that the policeman thought I needed protection. I must say the men at the counter looked at me as if I was a tasty morsel.  When I was finished eating, I went to catch the bus. There were no incidents worth noting.  I just didn't look around for who was looking at me.

    The concert was great.  After the show, I went backstage to find Art. I told him, "You won a fan with a compliment." How's that for a line? What could I have been thinking?  I was 16, and he was a 39-year-old jazz musician. Fortunately, his character was impeccable. 

    He took my address and telephone number.  He sent me postcards and called me from the road. He never, and I do mean never made a move on me.  I would have been vulnerable. I am forever grateful that he had more character than I had brains. I had relatives and fathers of children I babysat for that made more moves on me, yes, when I was 16.  I have no idea what he saw in me other than I was lively and related to his music in a way that he enjoyed.

    This 'relationship' continued until the summer I was seventeen when I was about to go off to college.   I traveled in from the suburbs one morning to meet him for breakfast in a coffee shop near Herald Square near Macy's is in Manhattan.   Here were the two of us eating breakfast together in 1957 in Manhattan.  Art was black as coal and 13 years my senior.  I am a juicy  white 17-year-old.  You can imagine the stares we got.  I had gone to an inter-racial camp when I was a child so was protected from some degree of prejudice. Also I was not the victim of those condemning looks. I thought it was funny.  

            After our meal, I told him that I couldn't see him again because I was off to bigger and better things.  I was off to Cortland State Teachers College, and after all, while I didn't say it outright, I clearly implied, what was he? Had he gone to college?  He has a significant wiki entry, and PBS did a whole hour on him in the Great Performances Series. I think when can say with safety, it was adolescent hubris on my part.  As an adult, I considered writing to him to thank him for what he did for me and what he didn't do to me.  I never got the courage. I figured he wouldn't even remember me. Little did I know. The last time I tried to figure out how to contact him, he was in a hospital dying of Korsakov Syndrome, a form of antegrade amnesia caused by excessive alcohol consumption turning the brain into cottage cheese. Too bad.  

    Since Ace didn't come to help me work on my problem with the CollectorZ. Com program, I texted John Coughlin who initiated this whole procedure and bought the program. God bless the man. I walked with Elsa. Whenever I walk, I always focus on one or two changes in my movement pattern. I don't believe you can heal your body if you just do bodywork or just do yoga.  If you don't make an effort to change your daily habits, real changes are impossible if problems are caused by long term habits.  

    I came home and made some notes for the day. Howard's Day Off was playing on NPR. Love that program. Howard is so enthusiastic. Today he played jazz musicians who use classical elements in their work. Didn't Gershwin develop that idea? Back to working on the blog.

    John called to help me figure out how to figure out the problem I am having with the Collectorz.com app.  No joy. I will have to call tech support for the app to see if they can figure it out. I've been feeling like I'm helping John by entering the books into Collectorz.com, but it's really the other way around.  That makes me feel sad and alone. Others are helpful, but they're not as invested as I would like to believe. Not that they should be, whatever their investments in Mike, me, and helping me, it's all more than I expected in the first place. 

    I tried to get on Netflix while I ate my dinner.  I still couldn't get it working. While  I entered more books into the program, I picked up a book on Beethoven and found the fly cover tucked into the bookmarking, where Mike stopped reading.  It made me sad for all he didn't get to do that he wanted to. I so profoundly hope he is at least at peace and out of pain if not downright, either happy or in bliss. I'm not that worried about myself. 

    I walked Elsa, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. Goodnight, Elsa. Goodnight, Mike.