Saturday, April 20, 2019

    I  was up at 6:30 despite having set the alarm for 7. The Saturday Bikram class starts at 8:30, so I can get up an hour later.   As Elsa and I took our morning walk,  I worked on my hips: I focused on opening the left hip for 10 steps by making sure I started my stride on the outside of my left foot and allowed the left hip to roll back while the right shoulder came forward and the left shoulder went back.   Then I focused on the right hip for 10 steps by making sure I pushed the left shoulder forward and right hip back and over to the left.    

    After Bikram, I went to the bank to deposit those checks of Mike's that arrived after his death. I sat in the car to make out the deposit slip.  I had my Raymond James checkbook rather than the First Hawaiian.  Wrong. Well, I'll try again tomorrow.

     I drove home, showered,  did MELT, and used the Tiger Stick.

     Last night I got an official document in the mail from a credit card company.  In response to my asking to collect $24. 00 in bonus rewards, they sent me more official documents than any other company.   They all but want a copy of the will written in blood.  Found it very depressing.  I already sent in the death certificate. My name is on it.  Do they really need all this official stuff?  It feels as if they are deliberating, making it hard for me, although I know without a doubt that is not what is going on. I ate 2 Hersey Milk Chocolate bars with whole almonds in the middle of the day to comfort myself. Then I did a few endless rounds of FreeCell to comfort myself more. Amazing what can knock me off my center. I'm doing okay with Mike's death, but this business about having the correct forms to claim money owed to him is affecting me.  Bizarre.

    I eventually worked on two more blogs but only sent out one. I vacuumed and cleaned stains on the lanai rug in anticipation of having 10 people for dinner on Sunday.  I also polished the glass on the coffee and end tables.  I have recently discovered that just rubbing vigorously works better than cleaning with a liquid spray.  I remembered hearing about women polishing the windows every Thursday when I was a child.  Now, I get it. What a discovery.  Not only does the glass get cleaner, but it also doesn't attract dust as quickly.  I just vacuumed the kitchen floor.  I figured it would be dirty again after Judy, Paulette, and Adam cooked dinner. No, I didn't feel I had to clean the house for my guests.  Guests are the necessary motivation to get me to do it.  It gives me a deadline. Thank God for guests.

    When Elsa and I got home from our before dinner walk,  I tried to finish one more entry and send it out. Sandor says I have to edit my whole blog before it can be sent out.  Boo-hoo!  I don't know how I'm going to feel rereading all the entries at this point.  I will have to relive those painful moments with Mike in the hospital.  I think I will want to read it someday.  I have this incredible record of all that happened. I won't have to rely on my memory, which isn't much good after 2 or 3 days anyway.  

    Also, the blog is 250 pages long by this point.  That is a lot of editing to be done.  I signed up for the advanced Grammarly program for a year to help me out. This is going to be a piece of work.  I don't yet have a name for the blog that makes sense.  My problem is that it is not just about grief; the first five weeks of it, Mike is in the hospital very much alive.  My year of magical thinking only starts after March 3 when he died. 

    I miss loving Mike.  He was such a gracious recipient of my love for him.  He never used my affectionate nature against me as some might, thinking that my love for him gave him power over me.  He never pushed me away the way my mother did. I could be joyful with him and about him whenever I liked.  This trait in him is irreplaceable. Even Elsa isn't that generous with me.  

    Two days ago, I talked about how Mike wasn't perfect. Should there be any question in anyone's mine, neither was I. What Mike and I did have was an intention to improve and be better for each other. We never deliberately hurt each other, and we always wanted what was best for each other.  We had a deep trust in each other's intentions.  But, there were some ways I wasn't all he wanted or needed.  I was aware that  I avoided looking into things Mike was interested in because I was afraid of triggering him into his teacher mode.  He received a great deal of praise for his homilies.  I didn't like them, not because of what he had to say but because he was saying it in his teacher mode

    As I go through his books now, I feel sad that I didn't read more about Simone Weil while he was working on his thesis.  I find myself now wondering why he never asked me to read what he wrote before he handed it in; I gave him everything I wrote for him to evaluate.  I assumed he just thought he didn't need my help. Now, I wonder.  If I had shown more interest, could we have developed a conversational style?  I feel sad that  I didn't get to know him better.  I am learning things about him from other people.  I am looking forward to reading about Simone Weil as well as his doctoral thesis on her and learning more about his thinking.  

    I am also looking forward to reading the book he completed on theology.  I knew he had pretty much finished the book.  I didn't know that he had already given it to 2 men from the diaconate to read.  We all want to try to get it published so that all his work won't go to waste. I feel sad about all we could have learned about each other and experienced together as we got older.  I think we both did the best we could; it just that death has cut off our progress. Boy, I loved him. And I loved getting to know him better, even if sometimes I found out things about him through other people.  It was all interesting.  

    When I was in my twenties, I partnered a friend of mine in an audition.  He had selected an excerpt from T.S. Elliott's play, The Cocktail Party.  I learned two guiding insights from that play.   One, Elliott says everyone is lonely; it is only that some people know it, and others don't.  But the more valuable insight for me was his advice, "Always greet your loved ones as  strangers every day." (At least this is how I recalled his words.  I can't find that quote. What he did say is, "We must also remember that at every meeting, we are meeting a stranger.") He didn't mean be cold and standoffish.  He meant to know that your loved one is always like a stranger in the sense that you don't fully know them because the human psyche is so deep. There is always more to discover. Hopefully, there are no dramatic surprises, like dishonesty, but only the endless opportunities to experience life through the lens of another's perspective.   

    I ate my dinner in front of the T.V., I didn't catalog any books tonight.  I was still recovering from my down feeling about that clerical work. Can you imagine? Asking for all this proof over $24.  Is it worth it for either of us? 

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

Friday, April 19, 2019

      I was up at the usual time when I have plans to go to the 7:30 am class at Bikram.  I saw the first signs of spring this morning on my walk with Elsa.  I saw a wild hen and rooster herding their clutch of 6 chicks.  

     On my block, the wild animals are chickens, pheasants, turkeys, pigs, and cats.  I don't get to see the pigs often, but my neighbors hear them at night.  Most of these animals started out as domestic. They were released into the wild when people moved and abandoned them.  If you want to see wild chickens galore, Kauai is the island to go to. That island got hit by a hurricane, and all the chicken coops were ripped apart, releasing I don't know how many.  

    These domestic chickens started out as yellow or whitish or maybe brown. Without the interference of humans,  they have changed their plumage.  Surprise!  They have the most magnificent colors. See the link below.  

https://images.search.yahoo.com/search/images?p=kuai+chickens&fr=aaplw&imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Fimg.huffingtonpost.com%2Fasset%2F55f214061700009a01569ec0.jpeg%3Fcache%3Dvl6fpkwghu%26ops%3Dscalefit_720_noupscale#id=0&iurl=https%3A%2F%2Fimg.huffingtonpost.com%2Fasset%2F55f214061700009a01569ec0.jpeg%3Fcache%3Dvl6fpkwghu%26ops%3Dscalefit_720_noupscale&action=click

    The residents of Kauai are not so excited about these wild chickens. A friend of mine who lives there says, "Visitors swerve to avoid hitting chickens; residents aim for them." In every clutch, there are boy chickens as well as girls. Those boy chickens grow up to be roosters. Anyone who thinks that roosters only crow at dawn hasn't been around roosters. They crow any time: in the middle of the night, in the middle of the day, and sometimes continuously.  

 A friend of mine who lives in a somewhat rural area is looking for someone to kill the roosters on her property.  She thinks her neighbor was raising roosters for fighting and released them.  She isn't getting any sleep.  I have a friend that will go out with his grandson and clear her property of this nuisance and believe me, it is a nuisance.

     While I was walking, I discovered I was creating more space between my pelvic bone and my left hip.  This isn't what is usually considered a hip opener.  My left side is contracted and, therefore, the muscles cramped because of my spinal curvature. As I correct it, other parts of my body open up.

     I found a second sign of spring when I got home; some of my coconut oil was liquified.

During the winter months, the oil is always solid. During the summer months, the oil is completely liquid. Here we don't have melting snow to tell us spring has arrived. We're dependent on coconut oil to give us the news.  

     In the Bikram class,  JJ recommended a modification for me in one of the postures.  What he suggested is leading to a greater stretch in my arms and upper back.   I can't wait to have more individualized instruction with this man.  He's a teacher after my own heart.

     When I left for Bikram this morning, I was organized to go to the bank to try and deposit some checks that had been sent to Mike after he died.  I wanted to deposit it into my Raymond James accounts, but they sent them back because Mike's accounts had been frozen already. When I got out of Bikram, I realized it was  Good Friday. The bank was probably closed. I also was going to send a death certificate to Target, so Mike's credit card there would be shut down.  I had tried the other day, but the number I had didn't work.  I was going to call Target yesterday to check on the fax number, but I forgot.

     I stopped off at Island Naturals for pumpkin seeds, my new protein source in salads, and a gallon of  Dr. Bronner's Rose soap.  I should be good for another year now.

            When I got home, the first thing I did was search for the Chase Freedom card I got yesterday and misplaced.  I know I opened the mail while sitting on the sofa in the library. I looked in all the cracks and crevices of the sofa, nothing.  I looked on the floor, nothing. When I came home, I looked on the dining room table, the coffee tables in the living room, and finally, my wallet. Nothing.  I didn't remember moving it out of the library, but who knows.  I went back into the library and looked on the floor in front of the sofa while standing. There it was. Was it really there all along or was it just playing a game with me and hiding, and only now reappeared.  Whatever. I found it.  

    I showered, did MELT, and the Tiger Stick and washed my Bikram stuff.  Then I sat down and binged on FreeCell. That's all I want to do now.  I forced myself to do some work on the blog.

    I called Target. I had the right fax number. A weird one. I asked for the hard mail address, and with the cost of an envelope and a stamp, I had dispatched my duty. So much easier. I don't know what made me feel I had to fax everything.

    I noticed that Elsa no longer sits on the spot on the rug with a clear view of the front door.  She seems to know that Mike is not coming home anymore.  I don't know if she is sad.  Sometimes, I think so.  But she seems to have transferred her affections to me, which is better for both of us given the situation.

    Elsa and I did our evening walk.  I ate dinner in front of the TV and cataloged books.  I walked Elsa, washed my face, brushed my teeth, went to bed, and then said, "Goodnight, Elsa. Goodnight, Mike." 

Thursday, April 18, 2019

     I got up at the usual time. Now that the sun is coming up earlier, it is much easier to get up. During the winter, when dawn was just peeking over the mountain at  6 am, getting up early was an effort.  I swallowed a big gulp of water and was out the door for Elsa's walk. When I got home, I did my oil rinse, washed last night's dishes, and then off to Bikram.   

    When I got home, I threw balls for Elsa.  I really do that every day, several times a day, actually, whenever Elsa can get me to do it. Elsa can chase balls on an almost continuous basis.  The other activity she has an endless tolerance for having her tummy rubbed. When I walk her, she rolls over on her back for every passerby. 

    I showered, washed my Bikram clothes, did MELT, and used my Tiger Stick.

    I've been thinking more about Mike's limitations as a human being, what he was good at, and what he wasn't good at. Many of his shortcomings were caused by his treatment in the hands of his family of origin, particularly his mother. This brings up more anger.  Mike was a fantastic human being, but he would have been capable of so much more. 

     He was a phenomenal teacher and counselor, really amazing.  As a teacher, he was excited about the subjects he taught and inspired his students. He was a true scholar.  As a counselor, he had that combination of honesty and sensitivity that touched people profoundly and changed their lives for the better.  What he wasn't good at was unstructured social conversation.  

    When I first met him, his idea of a conversation was him talking for 35 minutes, uninterrupted, and then me making relevant contributions or asking appropriate questions.  It took me years to get through to him that the function of a conversation was not to learn something new from an expert but to learn something new about the person he was talking to.  He understood that in the counseling context, but not in casual conversation.  He needed a clear framework to be able to function.  His mind was linear; my mind, not so much.  

    I may have mentioned he didn't do well with maverick thinking. What the hell was he doing with me?  This is what my life is about. Finding new solutions to problems. He once said that if he had been my boss, he would have fired me, despite my success with the students I worked with.  Years later, when I mentioned this to him, he said that was because of his fear of the unfamiliar.  In our marriage, I became more structured, and he became more tolerant of the unstructured.  The big difference is that I was conscious from the beginning that I wanted to learn to be more structured. I believe he was not aware he chose me in part because of his need to change, which does not mean he didn't select me for this very trait. I think he wanted to learn to be more tolerant of the unexpected, uncontained.  He just wasn't conscious of his desire.

    There was a point in our marriage while we were still living in Princeton, where he was launching a serious effort to get me to change my evil mental ways.  He came with me to see my therapist.  He complained about how I leaped from one subject to another.  He found this very annoying if not downright distressing.  I pointed out to him that I could see relationships between Descartes and an arrangement of telephone poles; I make connections between everything. 

    I blurted out, "I use primary sources." Mike was outraged. He said, "I use primary sources.  I read the original Plato and Thomas Aquinas." The therapist said, "She's a phenomenalist."  "Oh!" He finally got the difference between the two of us.  Thank God, this therapist knew what a phenomenalist was and knew that Mike would respond to that information. He finally had a context to understand me.  

    A few years later, he started working on his Ph.D. thesis for his theology degree from Catholic University.  He chose or had chosen for him Simone Weil for his thesis topic.  I read a little of her writing. I recognized the way her mind worked. She was a combination of his first wife, me, and him.  She was a social activist (his first wife), and scholar (Mike), and a creative thinker (me).  I think Mike's exposure to her helped him to become more tolerant of me.   By the end of our lives together, he had gotten to the point that he found the way my mind worked amusing and fun.  He said I was full of surprises; he could never anticipate what would come out of my mouth next.

    I seem to have entered the angry phase of the grieving process with some sadness thrown in for good measure.  Some of the anger that is coming up is toward Mike. There is a chance that his commitment to better living through chemistry to deal with his medical problems may have contributed, if not caused, his pancreatitis. He was firmly committed to what the "expert" doctors had to prescribe.  

    Some people fight about money, some about sex, some about religion; we fought about medical solutions to illnesses. I always do as much as I can to heal myself using alternative methods.  I avoid taking aspirins.   I finally brought my blood pressure down to 128 for 80 from 169 over 90 with meditation the other day.  I am cutting back on the blood pressure medication I started taking while I was on Oahu with Mike. The moment I noticed it was high, I called my doctor immediately for medication, knowing that I would also deal with the problem with other methods. Mike rejected other methods.  

    He was a very anxious man, suffering from PTSD from his experiences with his family of origin. I also suffer from that. We both had mothers who screamed, and I do mean screamed in horror when things didn't go their way.  Yes, they both suffered from PTSD, but also they both made no effort to contain themselves.  I worked years in therapy, most of my adult life, to cure this problem in myself so I would be less reactive.  While Mike was in control of his behavior, he suffered internally. He didn't overreact as I did, he withdrew. He did try a psychotherapeutic approach, but the therapists he worked with weren't skilled enough to lead him through the process at a rate that he could tolerate. As a result, his solution was to be on high quantities of anti-anxiety medication that were above the approved amount. This medication may have caused his pancreatitis. It is those very medications that are implicated in his fatal pancreatic attack.

    His resistance to alternative methods even showed up in the hospital.  I tried to do some healing with him.  He thought I was substituting healing for his doctor's advice.  I would never have done such a thing. I would never have disrespected him that way.  However, I am not the least bit sure he wouldn't have disrespected my preferences if our positions had been reversed; he was so convinced of the value of what was 'scientifically proven," despite one scientific result being subsequently being disproven after another.   I assured him I would never, never override the doctor's advice in favor of my healing work.    

    I have moments of anger about the outcome, Mike's death, but I also can let it go.  Life is a gamble as far as I'm concerned, you choose which horse to ride and hope for the best.  His horse lost, but it could just as easily been mine.  I don't think there is a guaranteed solution.  I believe Mike did deal with his problems as best he could. It just didn't work out, and we both lost out. I'm more sad than angry, but some anger does well up. 

    I called NJ probate court again to see if I could get more specific information on their accepted procedures. They said if there is a will, regardless of the amount, it has to be probated. Now, that is not true here in Hawaii.  Here they offer a more straightforward and cheaper method. Going to probate costs money.  But, my guess is this explains why my financial advisor has never seen the Affidavit of Collection that I've handed him and believes it is easier to get a Letter of Testamentary.  All the people he has dealt with have gone to probate.  Getting that letter is a piece of cake once the probate process is already in place. 

    I took a long, deep nap.  When I got up, I ironed and took dry clothes offline. Then I sat down and binged on FreeCell.  

    Sandor contacted me to tell me he was free to help me set up the blog. Problem: I don't have a title yet.  Also, he wants me to edit the 250 pages that I have already written before we post it. I'm delighted that he is thinking of me.  I looked up the titles of other blogs on the subject.  

How's this one: Mike and me; me without Mike. Me with Mike; me without Mike.  I feel I the blog covers not just my loss but those five and weeks in the hospital.  Maybe I need two blogs.  One which includes before the death and one after. I'm very grateful that Sandor's making an effort to stay in touch with me.  I am fortunate that I have people who are looking out for me.

    I ate dinner, watched more of Murder in Suburbia, and cataloged books. I walked Elsa, washed my face, brushed my teeth, went to bed, and then said, "Goodnight, Elsa. Goodnight, Mike."

Wednesday, April 17, 2019

    I was up before 6 am.  I immediately called American Airlines. I needed to send in the documentation, but I also needed to have my own miles card number.  I wanted to send it in with all the other faxes. I rushed to get a number.  I couldn’t figure out how to do it just looking at the site, so I called Customer service.  The agent I spoke to told me I had to press the ‘join’ button on their Internet site.  I couldn’t find such a button on the screen.  He put me on hold. I waited and waited for him to come back on.  I realized he had put me on permanent hold for being a dufus.  I think the operators were overwhelmed with rescheduling due to weather-caused cancellations. I hung up and started from scratch. This time  I  got a really nice guy.  He knew how to get to the join button.  No, it was not on the first screen.  The second guy guided me through it. Once I had my number, I raced off the Bikram.  It was a smallish class only 8, and one was an instructor from a different class who I’m sure doesn’t pay for her classes. 

    After Bikram, I rinsed down and then started on my chores.  I went over to the bank first to have a document notarized.  I arrived around 9:30 and was told that the service was only provided between 10:00-11:30 and 1:00-2:30.  I didn’t want to just stand around for an hour, so I went over to Office Max to do the faxing I could.   I spent an hour faxing about 15 documents, including the one to American Airlines. I read while each one went through.  The whole thing only cost me $25. The clerk saw me reading CS Lewis and asked me about the book. Apparently, he’s a big Lewis fan. Afterward, I thought I should have asked him if he was a Catholic and knew Mike. 

    I went back over to the shopping center where the bank is.  I stopped at Long’s first to use the coupons I got the other day to buy more Lens Wipes for me and one for Yvette, who tried this brand when she was with me in Honolulu and really liked it. Also, I picked up 3 Hersey’s Milk Chocolate with whole Almond bars. The regular size, not the king-sized. 

    Then I went to Costco. I’m getting sick and tired of the potstickers I’ve been eating every night.  I love them or used to love them, but not every night.  I have to remember I don’t have to finish off one whole package of a food item before I switch to something else.  I can switch back and forth.  I saw Marie Calender’s chicken pot pies in the freezer section. I love chicken pot pie, but they come in a package of 8.  A little too much. They didn’t have the vegetarian soup I wanted.  I just got two bags of salad.  Love their prepared salads.  

    I finally had enough clothes to run a load in the washing machine.  I threw my Bikram stuff in. After I took my shower and did MELT and the Tiger Stick, I called Progressive to figure out the bill.

    Wonky experience. I had asked if it would be cheaper if I paid every six months.  I thought I had made that arrangement.  I found out that I can’t change the plan until the plan renewal is up. It’s a little like trying to catch the brass ring. Timing is everything.  Then the clerk gave me all sorts of numbers. Where the bill had been $151 a month, the last bill was $97.  Why? Well, there was a change when I dropped Mike.  But that still didn’t explain these numbers.  The clerk didn’t know the following words, “ I don’t know.” 

    I finally figured out what was going on.  When I first added Adam to our insurance, Progressive believed he was responsible for an accident on February 19, and we were charged accordingly.  Once it was straightened out, they had to reimburse us. They did it by reducing the subsequent bill.  Was that so hard?

    I finally called Judy Shibley to give her my email address so she can keep me informed about the hula ministry’s practice schedule.   I’m going to wait until after Easter to participate.

    I called Judy Glickstein; we pretty much check on each other daily.  She had a  sore throat yesterday, and it was turning into a cold today. She sounded miserable, but she had a little more sense of taste. Her doctor told her to skip a chemo session because of the cold.

    I did some work on the blog and showered.  It started raining. Our shower has a glass door that leads right out to the back lanai. I ran out to get my Bikram stuff off the line before it got wet again. That back lanai is invisible to neighbors. I’m often out there hanging up and taking down clothes in my all -together.  After my shower, I did my MELT and used the Tiger Stick. Then a little FreeCell, a little more on the blog, and then a well-deserved nap. Boy, do I love to nap.

    I read a little bit of the NY Times book section before I fell asleep. There was a review of an author who publishes her journal. They quoted a line of hers, “I’m still a fool for my husband’s kisses.”  Boy, do I understand that.  Kissing Mike was one of my absolute favorite things in life. 

    I saw a picture on Facebook of a guy I knew who I think is a jerk. I felt resentful that he’s alive when my precious Mike is gone. I think I’ve started on the anger phase of the grieving process.  I hope resentment doesn’t last too long.  It sounds totally unproductive to me. 

    After walking Elsa, I started on dinner.  I eat a large Costco prepared salad every night, a very large one.  Then I eat something which guarantees protein.  There was a good-sized container in the freezer with broccoli stuffed chicken Mike bought.  I was expecting several portions.  Instead, I found one stuffed chicken.  It said to slice it with a sharp knife.  I wasn’t prepared to slice a whole stuffed chicken with any kind of knife. My other option was to cook the entire thing.  Of course, with my excellent culinary skills, I misread the instructions.  It said to cook it on high for three minutes in the microwave and then cut holes in the plastic wrap.  I cut the holes first. It was good enough.  It was really quite tasty.  Mike would have been beside himself with my presentation.  I just cut off some and dumped it unceremoniously onto a plate.  Mike loved cooking and presenting the food the way a professional chef might. Me, not so much.  The purpose of food is nutrition.  I often think of eating as comparable to filling my car with gasoline. Gas powers cars; food powers animals, in this case, human ones, in this particular case me.      

    I watch Murder in Suburbia while I ate, a light, fun murder mystery program and then cataloged books.  I walked Elsa, washed my face, brushed my teeth, went to bed, and then said, “Goodnight, Elsa. Goodnight, Mike.”

Tuesday, April 16, 2019

    I didn’t turn the alarm on last night because I was going to stay home from Bikram and make phone calls to offices on the mainland.  I assumed I’d be up by 6:30 the latest. When I woke up, it was 7:50.  I didn’t go to bed that late. I must have needed the sleep.   Another quick walk with Elsa before I started the day.  

    One of the first calls was to Sears Service. My annual maintenance for my appliances was due.   This means my refrigerator, stovetop, oven, dishwasher, washing machine, and dryer.  I could give a testimonial for this service.  Mike and I got the top of the line service contract on our refrigerator.  We had problems with it.  After Sears was out for the fourth time trying to repair it, they gave us the money to replace the one we had.  For a little extra money, we bought a better product.  We feel we got our money’s worth forever.  

    I had a spot of reappearing dirt in the refrigerator.  I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from.  Yvette checked the bottom of the door and found a weep hole.  When I spoke to the service provider, she had me send her pictures, and her technical staff checked it. Their conclusion: dirt; clean your refrigerator   I had an appointment for Friday afternoon for all my appliances.

    I spent from 8 am to 5 pm making calls to credit card companies, determining how to redeem bonus points and miles. I am reading CS Lewis’s Mere Christianity.  He talks about his nasty temper. Boy, I’m seeing that in myself. Every call takes at least, at least half an hour, and every call gives me a little bit more information. Then when I ask another question, they repeat the same information.  Maddening.

     When I called one company, I discovered that Mike had accumulated 88,700 miles. Wow! This will take care of my travel to the mainland for a while.     I also called TIAA and the New Jersey pension fund to ask for help in filling out paperwork.  TIAA had my name wrong: Elizabeth Ross instead of Elizabeth David-Ross. The paperwork for the pension fund said something about submitting divorce papers if he had been married. At first, I thought maybe Jean could get some money, too.  No, the pension fund wants to check if Mike has any outstanding debts.   I called Jean and asked if she knew where her divorce papers were. She knew where they were. Inspired by my situation, she and John and have been getting all their paperwork together and making lists of passwords.  

    Yvette had a private yoga class with JJ. She texted me to say she was thrilled.  I can imagine.  He has a world of knowledge and thinks about how to apply what he knows to each body.  I can’t wait to work with him and get special instructions.  

    In Yvette’s class with him in which he covered all the postures.  I prefer his three-person three-session option; he breaks down the asanas over three sessions.  That way, he will cover less in each session, and I will be able to hear instructions repeatedly as he helps each one of us. 

    I walked Elsa all the way around the block.  If I’m doing Bikram that day, I just do a short walk. I noticed a lot of trash on this other street. Wow!  Due to our friend, John Zimmerman, I carefully monitor our block for trash.  There isn’t a lot on our street, a few cigarette butts, occasionally someone throws food containers out their car window. What I’m noticing is that trash has colors or shapes that usually don’t find in nature.  The color white is a dead giveaway.  I noticed that there are flowers which are that shade of white, but by the time they hit the ground, they’ve already started turning brown.  I haven’t seen any objects in nature that are perfect rectangles or circles, either.      

    Dorothy came to mind.  I was going to call her when I got a text from her. She had been in Seattle since March 27 to help Karin and David with their new baby. She decided to take a break and took a two-day trip to Victoria, British Columbia.   She told me about the garden she visited while there.  It was established by a wealthy family. Initially, people could visit for free;  now, people have to pay. They need the money to pay the 70 gardeners who maintain the place. When she got back, she was surprised that the baby had visibly grown. She will go back to New Jersey after Passover. David’s whole family will be coming out to Seattle for the holiday.

    I called Zola. We made a lunch date for Tuesday. She will bring food, and I will buy bread at Safeway. Delicious, whole grain, hmmm!  Salivating just thinking about it. I’ll make sure I have extra salad in the house. Thank God for Costco. 

    I was finally ready to take a shower. I needed a fresh bar of soap. When we moved here, we discovered we had an impressive surplus of Dove soap bars.  We put it, along with all the other items we store for future need, in a hall closet we called “the forever closet,” meaning we thought the items there would outlast us. Guess not. Mike’s gone; the Dove bars are not. There are still half a dozen left after close to 5  years. After the shower, I dutifully did MELT and used the Tiger Stick.  I love this method of using the shower to trigger these practices.  It works like a charm.  

    I did some work on making blog notes for the day. I was exhausted, and my mind is cottage cheese from all the phone calls and clerical work of the day. I went down for my afternoon nap.

    After taking Elsa for her walk before dinner walk, I  remembered to apply the ear cleaning solution.  I have had trouble doing it regularly.  She was suffering from an ear infection.  Her normally white hair in her ears had turned a reddish-brown. It was Judy who pushed me to treat her or to take her to the vet. At first, the whole process was difficult. Elsa made it clear that this was not one of her favorite activities, and it left me reluctant to do it. But, practice makes better if not perfect. To do it regularly, I linked the ear cleaning with something I do do regularly,  walking her. The brown color in the hair around her ears is fading, and there is actually more downright white hair coming back. Yeah, for me.  

    I ate dinner as I watched TV. I have found a wealth of British tv mysteries on  Brit Box. My latest if Murder in Suburbia. It’s lightly comical and not edgy.  I don’t like edgy. It scares me. I  did not catalog any books tonight. It was too much after a day of clerical work.

    I didn’t bother putting on a pair of shorts over my underpants when I Elsa and I took our late evening walk.  I did run into someone as it turns out.  But  “It’s Hawaii.” Formality is not the order of the day.

    I walked Elsa, had dinner, watched tv, and cataloged books.  I walked Elsa before going to bed, washed my face, brushed my teeth, went to bed, and then said, “Goodnight, Elsa. Goodnight, Mike.”

Monday, April 15, 2019

     

    I hit the snooze button and stayed in bed 10 minutes beyond the alarm.  Then I jumped out of bed and went on a fast walk with Elsa. No time for sniffing. 

    When I got home, I started my oil rinse when the phone rang. While it was an unfamiliar number,  I spat out the oil and answered it. It was Friends of the Earth answering my phone call from yesterday.  I thought I had made a single $100 contribution.  Winds up, I had arranged to make monthly $100 contributions.  I had to put a stop to that.

    I quickly got dressed for Bikram, hopped in the car, and got on my way.  I had another awkward conversation with the same Bikram student I had an awkward one with before.  I suspect it’s a lesson for me.  I’m being instructed on how not to start a conversation. She makes comments about me to initiate conversations that are based on wrong assumptions. I don’t recognize myself in her remarks.  How about just saying hello, how are you?  And see how the conversation flows from there. Yvette has met her for lunch a few times.  She says she does make statements based on incorrect assumptions regularly.  They don’t bother Yvette. She says she just corrects her.  Some people are adults, others are not. Maybe someday I‘ll be as mature as Yvette.

    Jeff, a Bikram student, was finally back. I’ve been worried about him.  He was a regular student as I was.   I was out since January 26 when Mike got sick, and when I came back at the beginning of March, I didn’t see him in class.  I was told he had been ill but was okay.  Winds up, he had a nasty infection, which became septic, and spent 5 days in the hospital and 1 month out of Bikram and is now only slowly recuperating.  

    During the class, I imagined talking to Mike.  He asked, “Why did I have to die?” I wasn’t sure if he was saying, why did I have to get sick in the first place, or given that he was seriously ill and in the hospital for over a month, why didn’t the doctors and I fight for his life? Both questions are upsetting.  I can’t answer the first question.  As for the second, I feel as confident as anyone can be that enough of his body was damaged and shut down because of the kidney disease and the severe acute pancreatitis that he had no hope of surviving.  The choice was to keep him artificially alive or let him die.  I feel confident that he did ask to be released the Saturday before I took him off life-support. But was this just a momentary desperate feeling or a considered one? How do I answer his question, so he is satisfied?  Does he have reason to be concerned that I wasn’t willing to go through his recovery with him?  I was as optimistic about it as I could be.  I knew he was intellectually committed to accepting God’s will. What better opportunity would he have had to learn to accept that will than while in recovery from a prolonged hospital stay when his body was wholly compromised? I wasn’t going to let him sink into a depressed state when he declared himself worthless.  There was a moment in the first few weeks of the hospital stay where he complained that he wasn’t a person anymore.  I gave him what for. How dare he describe himself that way!  But I’m someone who can envision a Buddhist monk living his life in a cave meditating having an impact on the world.  Mike’s visions of what it meant to be a worthwhile human being were more limited.  Also, I had a mother who became a better person while dealing with a life crisis, my father’s death, doing what she had to do for her children.  Mike’s mother also lost her husband in her early 50s. She declared herself no longer a person and beached herself. How’s that for a role model? 

    I did a rinse down after the yoga class in their shower because I had several hours of running around doing chores. My first stop was at Office Depot to pick up fax cover letter blanks.  I have about 15 faxes to send out.  I think it will be easier if I have the cover letters filled in before I get there.  I can read while each fax goes through.

    I was going to stop at the lawyer’s office to see if the Notary could sign two documents that need to be witnessed.   I also wanted to ask the lawyer about the papers that my long-term health care provider was asking for before they could refund money due to Mike’s death. I decided that getting that all done was too much stress since I had to be at the chiropractor’s at 10 am. I went there directly.

    Since I arrived early, I sat in the parking lot in front of the chiropractor’s office, making phone calls.  I called the main number of the convent where my godmother lived and found out she’d died about 2 weeks ago. Holy cow!  On the other hand, she was about to turn 100 and had been asking for death and a reunion with Christ for years. I have never heard of so many people having serious illnesses or dying in my life.  It seems every day I hear of another person with a problem. I’m beginning to believe the rapture has started.  Mike was taken.  It looks like I’m going to be left behind.  Oh, well.  Win some, lose some.

    I called Genworth, my long-term care provider, and found out the since I was representing myself and not the estate, I didn’t need any additional paperwork. I had calls from Judy Shibley from the hula ministry and Judy Glickstein.  The latter wasn’t feeling well.  She asked me what I was going to do for Easter.  No worries. I was going to stay home and suck my thumb. I’m not that worked up over it.  I encouraged her not to think about me because of her own illness. She wants to do a feast at my house.  I told her to have Adam, her son, cook the meal.  He can do it in my kitchen. 

    Kim, my chiropractor, worked on my left foot and calf supporting the work I have been doing in changing my walk.  I also had her work on my left shoulder.  It was injured when I fell down a flight of stairs head first when I was 35 and tore the rotator cuff.  I finally had it operated on when I was 62.  I was glad I waited because the surgical procedure was an outpatient one rather than a slice and dice procedure where the patient had to be filleted to reach the torn ligament. I was so glad when I had it done.  I was not so thrilled when I realized my neck and back problems were caused by the torn rotator cuff. My neck muscles had been doing more work because the muscle weakened by the tear couldn’t pull its own weight and called on the neck muscles.  Life became so much better after the surgery. 

    As you may remember, I am now also delaying the hip surgery to see how much can be accomplished by working on soft tissue change as I had done that with the shoulder.  Remembering additional suffering was caused by my delayed rotator cuff surgery,  I am now careful to notice if there are any consequences of my delaying/rejecting the THR surgery.  I don’t see any. My range of motion is increasing, and my level of pain is decreasing. It sounds like it’s worthwhile pursuing my current course of action.

    I stopped off at Costco on my way home.  I needed a package of salad, but first, I used the Costco gift card I got when I returned the beer to pay for gas.  I don’t have the credit card I need to shop at Costco right now. They only accept Visa cards. It was one of the ones that was under Mike’s name with me as an add on (and the contractor who did the work on our house)  that I had to cancel.  I ordered a new one and am expecting it to arrive any day. I had a list of things to buy and then realized that the items I had listed wouldn’t go on sale until the 17th.  Maybe by then, I’ll have my credit card. I paid in cash.  Who knows of cash?  

    When I got home, I worked on Tuesday’s blog and sent one out. I sent out two credit card check payments.  When I called about his AAdvantage credit card, they refused to give me information about a $37 bill. I was annoyingly persistent.  I think a woman who acts this way is a call the B-word.  Good enough!  But it worked to get me what I want. 

    I got a call from Raymond James.   I won’t tolerate them simply dismissing the documentation I provided because they’ve never seen it before.  My guess is they’re surprised by my attitude and my verbal ability and my willingness to do my own research.  I think I still have to do more.  It is hard to get my questions answered. However, I feel the lawyers dismissed what my lawyer did because of arrogance.   A small-town lawyer in the middle of a rural area in a state that is still considered a third-world country. Unacceptable.  

    I got an email from John Coughlin with videos from the Deacon weekend, where they did a mass for Mike. One was a  video of Mike teaching a class with a slide show showing the wonderful pictures Lina took at the funeral.  The other video was of the speeches some of the men gave commemorating Mike’s effect in their lives. I forwarded it to all the members of the family and Judy. Then ironed as I listened to the videos.  

    I worked on the blog sending two out. Yeah. And I even worked on a third. I did some ironing and finally gave the counters in the kitchen and the bathroom a good cleaning. Then I did more work on the blog.  

    When I saw Yvette, I asked her to make a commitment to check in on me once a day.  She said she was doing that.  I knew she was up here more. Some of that was just because since her dryer broke, she was using mine.  I don’t see the point of her spending the money to fix hers when I rarely use mine, and I have a super-duper service contract with Sears. I told her that I’m concerned that I could be lying on the floor for over 24 hours after a fall. I also proposed that they might only know I was dead when the stench reached the driveway or wafted out over the lanai.  She assured me that they can hear me moving around upstairs.  If they didn’t hear me, they would be alarmed. 

    After a day on the phone with credit card companies, I finally took my shower, followed by my MELT and Tiger Stick treatments.  Then I walked Elsa, came home, had dinner, and watched TV. I probably entered some books into the catalog, but I didn’t make notes about it, so I don’t know. 

    I walked Elsa, had dinner, watched tv, and cataloged books.  I walked Elsa before going to bed, washed my face, brushed my teeth, went to bed, and then said, “Goodnight, Elsa. Goodnight, Mike.”

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."