Sunday, May 19, 2019`

    I set the alarm for  8 pm.  I guess I had decided the night before that I would be going to church and not to Bikram.  I walked around the block instead of just up and down our street. I took a brown paper bag with me to pick up garbage. I saw nothing major, not even much minor trash until I came across a broken plastic flower pot.  The brown paper bag went to good use.  Further down the street, I spotted what I thought was a small piece of paper. Fooled. It was dried wild turkey poop.   I washed my hands very well when I got home.

    I am working on changing my breathing. While I revert to my old breathing pattern, extending my abdomen when I don't pay attention, it takes less effort now to restart the new breathing pattern, contracting my abdominal muscles in upon the inhale. I was surprised by how easy it was to restart it when it had taken effort when I first started working on the change.

    I boiled two kettles of water for the weeds, hurried to get showered, do MELT, and use the Tiger Tail to get ready for Paulette's pick up around 9:30.  I heard her honk the horn and then her voice calling.  Oh, well. Usually, I'm out front waiting, so she's not required to pull into the driveway.

    We got to church early as usual. I did a count of the available seats in the church. It's closer to 60, tops, rather than 75, as I said earlier.  Holy Rosary is a small, wooden church.  The person sitting in front of me was speculating when it was built. There are several small churches like this dotted across the island.  At least three of them are decorated by a local Michelangelo, well, close but no cigar. They're still fun to visit.  

    Fr Lio is just in the middle of repainting the Holy Rosary church.  Apparently, it is part of the termite defense. The beasts get sealed in.  Does that actually work? By today, the ceiling was painted a sky blue, and the walls were painted a pinkish white. I heard there is a possibility that they will be asking a local artist to decorate the church. 

    The Mass was short today because there must have been no more than 25 people. I'm getting to know all the parishioners, which makes me feel more connected.  While Paulette was doing her visiting after Mass was over, I worked on reading the words to the traditional songs of the Mass that have been translated into Hawaiian.  I can read them and pronounce them correctly – given the time because Hawaiian is a phonetic language, but the songs go too fast for me to keep up.  I will now use the time when I get to church early to work on saying it slowly, slowly, until I can read it at the required speed for the song.

    Back to the subject of sacrifice as an act of love.  One of my readers wrote to assure me that I did sacrifice for Mike and, therefore, had agape love.  I deeply loved, and still love, Mike, but what I am struggling with here is what act of sacrifice can be defined as agape love.  Was my sitting by his side for the five weeks a true sacrifice, or was my allowing him to die freeing me from having to sit with him but leaving me on my own to reinvent myself a sacrifice? Both? Neither? It is the subject of sacrifice as an act of love that bugs me. I have no question that I loved Mike for Mike's sake and did the best I could for him. 

    If you're wondering why it is an issue for me, my mother always accused me of being selfish because I never thought of her.  My mother was nuts. I thought of her nonstop. When I couldn't think what she thought, know what she knew, and do what she wanted without her telling me, that was evidence of my selfishness. That's what she required.  She was jealous of the attention I gave to any other human being.  If she had been a life partner, her behavior would have been defined as abusive.   She was damaged goods, but she also loved her children passionately. She was able to be happy for us when things work out well, even when she didn't approve of the actions we took. 

    In addition to a somewhat confused and confusing mother, and I had a father that used me for a sounding board for questions like "What is truth? What is beauty? What is love?" So I'm stuck having to deal with these questions.  I don't really mind.  I find it very interesting. 

    I am struggling to find a definition of agape love that is more realistic.  The Christian model is physical death, physical discomfort, "Jesus gave his life," is too limited. I am arguing for a definition of sacrifice of self that involves a change in our concept of ourselves or our expectations -voluntarily.  On the other hand, I have an example in my life of someone who uses shift in self as a way of escaping self, which winds up damaging those near and dear. It isn't change alone. It is the intent behind the change and the voluntary nature of it.

    Does parenthood qualify? Well, in this day and age, most children are born because they are wanted. People can choose not to have children. I can imagine that people feel that they have lost their lives for the sake of their children, but is that voluntary. Let's see.  How would these parents feel if they didn't care for their children? Jesus's sacrifice was voluntary.  He could have gotten out of town before the posse came after him.  He had a choice.  He did this for others.  He didn't have to.  No one would have known the difference.  If you neglect your children, you can be arrested besides having trouble looking yourself in the mirror and seeing a good person looking back at you. Sometimes circumstances eliminate choice. Choices we have already made force our hand; the subsequent decisions involve choosing between two bad options, suffer by doing or suffer by not doing. 

    David Brooks, love this man, has written a book called, "The Second Mountain." The book is on order, but I haven't read it yet. He talks about the quest for a moral life. Can't imagine living otherwise. I'd like to say that living that way runs in my family, but I've seen evidence to the contrary. Who are these people? Now that doesn't mean that some of these folks don't judge me as not living a moral life. They see me a selfish. I suspect it is because I ask for what I want and say what is on my mind, but I don't know for sure.  All I get is snarls and character assassinations.  It doesn't give me much to work with. 

    I think Brooks's first mountain is when someone thinks that their well-being is always in conflict with someone else's. The second mountain is when someone thinks that their well-being is interlinked with everyone else's. The more people and animals and plants that experience well-being the more enhanced my well-being will be.  While my well-being is dependent on your well-being, that definitely does not mean that I don't have to guard my own well-being.  If my focus is only on the well-being of others, then my well-being will suffer.  If mine suffers, so will theirs.  I think the narrow path is the way between what I owe myself and what I owe others. Tricky, tricky. Good luck to one and all.  

    I love this topic. I think it is exciting and essential. It's an issue for all of us. Are we good people or bad people? Do we do good things or bad things?  I have heard that even serial killers will say that they are basically good people who have done bad things. Thinking of ourselves in favorable terms is important.  If I write everything I want to write on this subject for this entry, it'll probably come to several chapters. I'll continue the discussion as it moves me in future entries.     

    I sat down to work on the blog and boiled a kettle of water for my weeds. B got Mike's car and took his grandkids back home to Hilo. Sariah was feeling sick, she had double vision and nausea.   She thought it was food poisoning from the Thai food but neither Yvette nor I got sick. B said that she had eaten a whole container of strawberries on her own. Possibly, she didn't wash them, and they made her sick. 

    I've been noticing that Elsa sits by me at all times. If I'm sitting in my typing chair, a firm armchair, she sits under the coffee table in front of the sofa or spread out on the tile in the nearby hallway.  If I lie down on the sofa, she is on the floor right near me or on top of me. 

    I walked Elsa and came home and did more work on the blog. I had dinner, watched TV and cataloged some books.   I walked Elsa again, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. Good night, Elsa, Goodnight, Mike.

Saturday, May 18, 2019

    I hadn’t set the alarm clock since on Saturdays, the Bikram class starts at 8:30 am instead of 7:30 am as it does Monday through Friday.  I woke up at 5:30, went to the bathroom, went back to bed, and work up at 8 am.  I could have made it to the class if I hadn’t had to walk the dog, do my oil rinse,  wash my dishes, and drink my two cups of water in the 15 minutes before I would have to leave.  I decided to pass and just stay at home.

    When I got up, I was still too tired to walk the dog.  This is a low point, but I don’t know what is causing it. It could be physical tiredness or grief.  Either can cause exhaustion. Yesterday, Sandor and I set up the blog site, and I started reading the entries from January when the sickness that eventually killed Mike started.  There was so much hope in the beginning. 

    I had woken up in the middle of the night and thought, “What name did we give the blog?” It was supposed to be “With Mike; without Mike.”  I thought I remembered telling Sandor the name as, “Before Mike; After Mike.”  If we had named it the latter, that would never work.  Before Mike was 45 years ago.  

    I let Elsa out the back door so she could do her business. Then I drank a quick swallow of water, did my oil rinse, washed the dishes, and made my Juice Plus smoothie for the next two days.  I started the boiled water weeding processes.  I did two kettles right away. I had one of my readers ask how do I use the boiling water with the weeds.  I boil a kettle of water, take it outside, and pour it on the weeds, killing them. Works like a charm and is not toxic.

    I worked on the blog and got out last Sunday’s blog.  I set out cleaning my kitchen floor. Because I had found some spots on my white tile with ground-in dirt, I made a paste of baking Soda and vinegar and applied it. That mix cleans everything.  I read about using it for cleaning stovetops. It does a remarkable job. I had to clean up the paste I put down the night before. I scraped up a lot of it, dumped water on the spots, and vacuumed it up with my Rainbow vacuum cleaner. The spots did look better. This paste works! I originally learned about it as a recommendation for cleaning stovetops.  When we were living in Ohio, I also had white tile floors. I never found a successful solution then.  

    When Sandor was here yesterday, and he saw my vacuum, he said, “Oh, a Rainbow vacuum cleaner. They’re the best.” I had hoped that I might get the same action out of any wet/dry vacuum if/when my Rainbow gives out. Guess not. There is no way I would wash a floor anymore without vacuuming up the water.  If you let it sit there, you wind up with muddy water well distributed all over your floor. If I use my Rainbow, I apply water and vacuum it up and repeat until the water in the vacuum’s collection tank comes out clean. My grout stays white that way. 

    I had plans to go to the ballet that night with Yvette and Sariah. I decided to nap so I could stay awake.  Judy called while I was napping.  She said that she was feeling better than yesterday.  She was so lousy yesterday that she didn’t answer my phone call. It does seem that her negative reactions get stronger with each chemotherapy treatment.  I went back to sleep. I had set the alarm for 3pm so I could get up and walk Elsa, clear the car so someone could sit in the back, take my shower and get dressed.

    As I lay on the sofa napping, I knew Elsa was nearby, most likely lying down on the floor next to me since she wasn’t on my belly. I think I must have a map in my mind noting where the furniture is and all the living things in the house, which is only Elsa now. I must still have Mike in my map. He may not be in the same room I am at any particular moment, but he could be in another place, sleeping in the bedroom or working in his library. I am comparing loved ones to comfortable furniture; they are comfortable furniture but with benefits.  Elsa offers some, but Mike offered many, many, many more. 

    When I take a shower in our universal access shower, Elsa sits and looks up at me. She wants me to throw a ball that she has dropped at the edge of the shower or actually rolled into it. Mike would sometimes come into the bathroom as I showered.  He looked at me, too.  There was so much love and delight in his eyes.  Elsa isn’t a very good replacement.

    Sariah, who was going to the ballet with Yvette and me, came up at 3. She walked Elsa while I cleaned out the car so she could sit in the back.  I finally took some junk out of it that had been in there for at least a year.  I counted the magazines I had in the back of the car to give to Memory Lane, the charity store for our local hospice. I keep a record of my donations for tax purposes. 

    I bought seats at the back of the auditorium for the ballet. Initially, I did it because the seats at the very back allow you to stand up and see over people’s heads.  For this performance, I bought seats a couple of rows from the back.  I thought Sariah might do better with an aisle seat. One tall man was sitting a few seats ahead of us. Before the performance started, he had several bouquets of flowers wrapped in plastic he was holding over his head.  Really? Fortunately, he distributed them to various people sitting with him. It was fun to see how many families had bought bouquets for their children of all ages who were in the performance.

    The West Hawaii Dance Company does an incredible job.  True, it’s more dance theatre than ballet in the tradition of American Ballet Theater in NYC, but I actually prefer this.  The pyrotechnics are limited, but some of the performances are delightful, and the choreography is impressive.  Since it is a local dance studio for children of all ages and adults, you have a wide range of skills.  The three-year-olds steal the show.  I dare any professional dancer to go up against a gaggle of them.  One year, I persuaded Damon and Mike to see one of their performances..  Mike had no tolerance for amateur work, and Damon is a professional in the movie industry.  They were both surprised by how good the work was.  Besides the three-year-olds, some adolescents have been trained at this studio who have already been accepted for summer sessions with major dance companies. 

    In this performance of Coppelia, there was one piece where they combined students who danced on point, those of the same age who hadn’t achieved that skill yet, and younger children who could follow choreography, unlike the three-year-olds and made it work.

    Several parents knew that I ran into whose children were in the performance, a three-year-old, a five-year-old, an 11-year-old, a 13-year-old and a 15year old, who will pursue a professional career. I love the way the 15-year-old dances. I can pick her out of a group every time. She doesn’t have many solos yet because those are given to the older children, especially the high school seniors. 

    After the performance, we went over to the food court in Waimea. I had a craving for a hamburger, and there is a highly rated shop there.  Sariah said she didn’t like burgers, so we checked out the other options before I ordered our hamburgers.  Yvette and Sariah found a Thai take out place.  The food looked good to me, so I ordered it there.  I thought it was delicious. Sariah said it was too salty for her.  I guess it was a bit salty, but I do love my salt. As Yvette drove us home, I felt truly content. 

    When I got home, I watched No Offense and cataloged over 20 books.   I walked Elsa again, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. Good night, Elsa, Goodnight, Mike.

Friday, May 17, 2019

    I got up, walked Elsa, did my morning routine, and went to Bikram. One of my readers asked, "What is Bikram?" The short answer is its hot yoga, a 90-minute class at 1050. Here in Hawaii, there's no humidity added; the ocean breezes provide it. When I was in Ohio, there was a professional level humidifier in the room. The teacher recites a dialogue, monologue more like it, that is the same every day.  The class is the same every day, the same words, the same asanas, the same duration for each posture, same, same, same.  I absolutely love it. I can take care of myself.  I can concentrate on making modifications to my body instead of wrestling with a new set of directions. I can lie down in the hot room and sleep for the whole class except for the breathing at the beginning and end of the class. 

     JJ said my spine was straight through most of the class. I was only somewhat askew at the end. I talked to him about my frustration with physical therapists or yoga teachers, who give exercises but don't tell what the exercise is supposed to accomplish. JJ does a great job explaining to us what the exercise's objective is and what muscles we should be concentrating on in an asana.  When JJ  told the class that in the arm position of the eagle pose,  you are meant to squeeze your arms together so tightly that you cut the blood off.  When you release the grip, there should be white spots on your arms from where you are pressed together.  That piece of direction made all the difference.

    I worked with a fantastic physical therapist in Cleveland, who I saw only once. He made one adjustment on me, and that was a game-changer.  He also gave me several exercises but never told me what these exercises were supposed to do for me.  As my body changes, I learn what the effect would have been.  If I had been told in the first place, it might have saved a year of work.

    I went to Long's Drugs to utilize the 40% off coupon to buy a battery-powered micro razor, which I use to cut back my long eyebrow hairs.  Eyebrows grow longer when you get older, particularly on men.  Mine have been long since I was a child.  I had long eyelashes, long hair on my legs, and long eyebrows.  My mother criticized me, telling me I had to 'train' my eyebrows, so the hairs didn't wander all over the place. No. They should have been cut even back then. I learned those eyebrow hairs could be cut in 1996 when I heard some teachers talk about another teacher who had really messy eyebrows. 

    Long's also had Hersey's Milk Chocolate with whole almonds regular size on sale for 89 cents. That's the price I usually find at Target.  Yeah!

    B called to see if he could borrow Mike's car around 2 pm. to pick up his grandkids from Hilo. I called Adam, who was Ubering. He said he was planning to be home by that time anyway. Great!  I checked on the gas situation.  He said he would stop off and get it filled.  I called B and told him that he could have the car. That is one busy car.  Yvette is going to need it for a few days while her car gets serviced.

    I was going to go to Memory Lane to drop off some magazines and clothing for charity. I decided I had too much to do today and would get tired.  I went home.

    I showered, did MELT, and used the Tiger Tail.  I have gotten to the point that doing MELT on my feet is a regular event. However, I don't use it for my hands at all- at all. I should because my hands are getting worn down by all the typing I do and the FreeCell I play. MELT is good for repairing repetitive action injuries.

    I washed the kitchen floor and put all the Bikram stuff for Yvette, Scott, and me in the washing machine.

     Sandor came at 1:30 instead of 11:30. He runs on Hispanic time.  He texted me that he was leaving his office just at the point where I had picked up my phone to call him to find out his plans.   When he got here, he set up the blog and told me how he and Meaali'inani, his wife, met.  He downloaded the zip file Mike B sent with Mike's book on it. But we couldn't open the files.  Sandor called someone he knows who is a tech expert to see if we could get help with downloading those book files.

    When he left, I went to visit my friend Melissa who lives just up the mountain from me.  We had a great talk sharing our ideas.   She has had a busy life. 

    I went home to work on the blog, Saturday's for editing and posting on the email, notes for the 19th, and some editing of the early January entries for the official blog.  People who started getting the blog late in February can read the saga from scratch.

     I did some work on the blog and walked Elsa. Dinner tonight consisted of salad and three small slices of the multi-grain buttered baguette. I opted for eggs tonight. On Easter Sunday, Adam brought over 3 eggs from his hens. The eggs were three different sizes and three different colors.  The smallest one was white, the middle-sized one was a wonderful bluish-green, and the largest was a conventional brown.  One of the eggs had two yokes.  I fried them.  

    Elijah, Sariah, and B knocked while I was watching TV.  They had just gotten arrived from Hilo. I was too tired to be social.  I worked on the blog to get Saturday's out.

    Once Elsa was walked, I was in bed by 10 pm. Good night, Elsa, Goodnight, Mike.

Thursday, May 16, 2019

 
    I slept till the alarm went off and stayed in bed a few minutes extra. I walked Elsa. I did my oil rinse, washed my dishes, did 2 kettles of boiling water for my weeds, and made the usual two-day worth of Juice Plus smoothies.  I drank my two cups of water.
    My yoga pants, hemmed board shorts, were still wet.  They hadn't dried overnight.  I just grabbed them with my mat and towel with plans of putting them on when I got there. They were going to get wet in the class anyway, but there they would be warm from the heat in the room.  I left a few minutes after 7. I wanted to go early today for Bikram because JJ said he would adjust my posture while lying on the mat to make sure I'm straight before the class started.
    As I went into the yoga room, I said to JJ, "I'll be ready in a few minutes;" I still had to set up my mat and towel.  I lay down, positioned myself to provide some traction for my back. JJ never said anything to me; I thought he had forgotten.  It made me feel sad, and I found myself thinking of something to say to him after class that wouldn't sound angry or challenging to remind him to adjust me before tomorrow's class hopefully. I  resolved to make the best of the situation myself.  I relaxed the right shoulder, which is pulled too far forward as a rule. Naturally, when I did that, the rest of my body shifted.
    I had a good class.  I was able to participate in almost every asana with the modifications I usually make.  I didn't feel I needed to take it slowly or more conservatively than I often do to let my body adjust to a new reality.   After class,  I said something to JJ to the effect of, "Maybe you can check me tomorrow." He said he had been in twice to check on me, and I was straight. He didn't say anything because he didn't want to bother me.  Hmmm! Little did he know his not saying anything was a bother since it triggered emotions of sadness, anger, and then I struggled to compose something to say that didn't sound petty.
    I drove home immediately after class because I had a telephone session with my therapist.  What was I going to work on? All I felt is this sadness, but that's absolutely appropriate.  We can't change the circumstances.
    When I got home, I did one more kettle of boiling water for weeds and showered. Jean, Mike's first wife,  called. She had sprained her foot and was somewhat hindered.  She was working on clearing her house, inspired by Mike's loss and realizing the implications for John, her husband, or Damon, her son if she doesn't make an effort to clear out some of the stuff she has accumulated over the last 30 plus years.  Jean and John have not had the advantage Mike and I had.  We moved two times in that period, once to Ohio and the second to Hawaii. The second move was really instrumental in getting me to clear our possessions.  I knew we wouldn't have the storage space in our Hawaii house that we had in the Princeton or Ohio houses.  No basement.
    I also called my friend Carol Zimmerman this morning. She just had back surgery yesterday. Scary stuff.  She was doing well. She had been up yesterday already to go to the bathroom. It's remarkable how the medical profession gets us up and moving as quickly as possible.  When I was a kid, staying in the hospital in bed for 10 days was the standard for just about all procedures. My mother was in for 10 days after giving birth to me, and it was a standard delivery. It is so much better for us now.  
    In the session with Shelly, I started with just sitting with and observing my sadness.  I released anything negative about the sorrow and kept anything positive or anything I still needed.  An image of Mike being sad because he abandoned me, came to mind. In my image, he felt guilty that he left me on my own and betrayed his promise that we would both die at the same moment in our late 90s.  He was weeping, overcome with sorrow and guilt.  In the beginning, I just sat still and held the space for his sadness while assuring him that I would be okay.  I had seen Mike cry like this when he was alive when he thought he had betrayed me somehow.  He had an underlying commitment to me and my well-being that overrode any of his neurotic tendency to arrogance.  I had complete trust in that commitment.
    He started clinging to me to forgive him and comfort him.  I found myself backing away, shaking my arms to get him off. Then I became angry that he had abandoned me. As I stayed calm with his sorrow at first, he now stayed calm with my anger.  I could feel he sometimes wanted to approach me to comfort me, but backed off and just sat calmly with my anger.  The scene reminded me of something that Mike often said about our relationship: he said it worked because there was always one adult present- and it wasn't the same one. When confronted with his sadness, I was the adult. And then as I got in touch with my anger, he became the adult.  I saw myself being pretty pissy.  He left me; he betrayed me; he broke his promise to me, etc.  While he wanted to sit still with my anger, his penchant for worrying about me overcame him.
    My father, who died when I was 15, came on the scene.  He challenged Mike's habit of worrying about me.  He told him it doesn't help. Moreover, it undermines me.  My dad told him it communicates a belief that I'm not strong enough to manage life on my own.
    Mike found this confusing. He associates worry with love.  My father kept telling him that he should pray for me instead. Mike found this even more confusing. Seriously confusing.    While worry can be a sign of love, it can also be more about a person's self-image: 'if I worry, I'm a loving person. I can tell how much I'm a loving person by how much I worry.' Really? Now, who is the primary concern here, the object of the worry or the self-image of the worrier?   This was really difficult for him. He felt like he was losing his substance, becoming ghost-like. My dad and I held the space for him. Two adults, no waiting.  The session ended with Mike going through this ego-shattering experience.  God, I love him. That he would do this for me, go through this sacrifice of self to help me.  I know he would have done it if he was alive because he had done it. He always wished me the absolute very best.
    The plastic pantry shelving covers I had washed yesterday were finally dry. Once they were in, I set up the pantry again. The shelves still look full even though I had gotten rid of at least half of what was on them, giving several bags of unopened, unexpired products to the church charity and having Judy walk out with two shopping bags full.  There must still be something like 8 varieties of rice.  However, there are only two varieties of pasta left that haven't already gone bad.
    I cleaned the counters thoroughly and finally cleaned the stovetop, which hadn't been done since it was used on Easter Sunday.  Mike and I used to say, "Where's a house guest when you really need one?" Houseguests are motivation to do a proper cleaning.  I sprayed ammonia on the stovetop and raced Elsa and me out of the house for our before dinner walk so we wouldn't be overcome by the fumes.
    I spoke to Judy while I walked.  She was feeling lousy. Only three or four more treatments to go.  But then there is the recovery from the procedures.  She remembers when she was off the treatments because of her cold, and she still felt lousy.  This too will end.
    I walked Elsa and came home to do more work on the blog. I had dinner, watched TV and cataloged some books.   I walked Elsa again, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. Good night, Elsa, Goodnight, Mike.

 

Wednesday, May 15, 2019

    As I lay dozing this morning, I had two nightmares. One was of Mike telling me I wasn’t as good a person as he was because I wasn’t ordained.  The second was about his wanting to leave me because he was in love with another woman. 

    I had the first one because I started reading the book he wrote, ICON: A Theology of the Diaconate. He talks about the transformative experience of ordination. It is a significant ceremony. I was there. I had to be. I had to stand up and say I gave my permission for him to be ordained. All the men’s wives had to be there to do that.  Mike never, and I do mean never, made any claims to a higher degree of perfection because he was an ordained deacon.  He wouldn’t have gotten away with it if he had tried.  But, obviously, I have some hidden feelings, probably not so much about his being ordained as worrying about the quality of my own goodness.

    I can believe ordination is a transformative experience for those who are deeply invested in it. What kind of transformation, of course, depends on the person. For some, it’s an elevation of their stature.  But for some, it involves a profound reevaluation of how they relate to others in all their capacities. For Mike, it definitely was the latter. He never, and I do mean never, lorded his position over anyone. If anything, he became a more humble person, more vigilant of his own tendency for arrogance.  

    The idea that a ceremony can be transformative reminds me of something I heard a while ago.  I believe there have been studies made on how a woman changes as she walks down the aisle for her wedding. She assumes the role of the wife. For better and for worse, it is usually the model her mother provided for her.  That’s why I didn’t want to get married.  I was terrified that I would be similarly afflicted. I didn’t want to be anything like my mother, for any number of reasons. 

    The second dream is also easily explained.  It was a dream I had periodically over the last several years when our relationship was, if anything, better than it had ever been.  I would ask Mike periodically if he felt controlled by me.  He would say no. I didn’t feel constrained by him either, and yet we both felt comfortable with what we were getting out of our lives with each other. (Hmm. This sounds familiar. I think I told this story before.  It is still important to me.) 

    While we were both happy with ourselves and each other in the relationship,  this does not mean there wasn’t room for improvement.  There is always room for improvement.  It means we were content with what it was, grateful for what it was, while aware there was more that was possible. Nonetheless, I had these dreams.  When I woke up, I would tell Mike, who would have the only appropriate reaction: he laughed at the idea and gave me a hug.  He knew where this was all coming from. My mother, meaning to be helpful, assured me that no one really liked me, and anyone who told me they did didn’t love me enough to tell me the truth. Besides, I have had a few shockers in my life with people I thought liked me, revealing that they thought I was a monster.  Wow! That knocked my socks off.  

    I lingered in bed.  With dreams like that, you would have thought I would have jumped up and run for it.  I did do a quick walk and made it back only 5 minutes later than usual. I did my oil rinse, washed the dishes, and drank my two cups of water. Off to Bikram.

    I made it through the whole class today.  I do believe I am getting a greater range of motion in my left hip. However, I still can’t reach my left foot easily. With the change in posture, I am changing the alignment of my foot, and that’s creating problems with my left big toe rubbing against the second toe on that foot. Is it possible to have a bunion on your second toe?  I need a spongy thing between the two toes but have difficulty reaching down to put it in.

    As I was leaving the Bikram parking lot, Mike Berstene called.  I had made a 10 am appointment to talk with him today about Mike’s book and then forgot when other parts of the day’s schedule changes. Yikes! I told him I would be home in an hour.

    I stopped off at Target to get new tops for my Bikram outfit, bathing suit tops or athletic bras, and poop bags for Elsa.  I got distracted because there were greenies on sale. When I got out to the parking lot, I realized I didn’t pick up the poop bags.  Oh, well. There’s always tomorrow.

    I went to Costco and bought pretzels, almond milk, they were out last time, so I bought 3 cases, salad and got gas.  I called Mike Berstene while I was on the line to tell him I would be home shortly.  He said he was in a workshop and would call me back when he could.

    When I got home, the first thing I did was take out the garbage. It was trash pickup day. That made it the perfect day to clean out the grain products from the pantry, which I hadn’t done since we had the kitchen installed in 2015. Oh, dear.     

    Many of the grain products, rice, pasta, tempura, panko, etc. had gone bad. Either the containers were penetrated by some critter or the bug eggs that had been embedded in the grain product, matured, and were chomping away.  This mostly happened with matzah.  He had four different varieties, all infested with bugs. I dumped the infected food right into the garbage and took it out to the curb.

    Mike Berstene called back. Wow! Wow! and Wow! Did he ever have good news for me!  Mike B. is the guy who the Josephinum tech guy suggested I get hold of after telling me that he had no access to my Mike’s files.  

            1)    Mike B has access to Mike’s files and has Mike R’s whole book. 

            2)    When I spoke to Mike B about getting an editor, he said I would also need a proxy    author, someone who could accept or reject the editor’s suggestions. When I asked him         if he would fulfill that role, he said yes.  He also said that he knew others who could step             in if it got too much for him. 

                        a)    Mike B is a published author himself, 

                        b)     Mike B is a deacon and was a deacon director. Remember my Mike’s book is                        on the diaconate. 

                        c)    He worked closely with my Mike for the last several years and has a good                               idea of what his thinking on the diaconate might be. 

                        d)    I finally asked him if he could call the Paulist Press for me, It seemed to me                            that he would know what to say. I had nightmares of speaking to someone there                                 trying to tell them who my Mike was and that it would be worthwhile publishing                               his book. Mike B. said he would do that.  

                        4) In a subsequent email, I, wanting to blunt any disappointment Mike B might                             face when he called Paulist Press, I assured him that I would be willing to pay an                                  editor and pay to have it published on Amazon. Mike B wrote back the                                          following:” Michael’s reputation and  the quality of his work are sufficient that                             we should not have to pay anyone to publish or edit the book.” OMG!  I don’t                          believe my Mike had that much confidence in himself.

        After the phone call, I sat down and worked on the blog, mostly making notes for the day.  I took a quick shower when I realized my student was coming shortly because of early dismissal on Wednesdays.  I did MELT, but I had to skip the Tiger Tail.

    I got an email from Raymond James that the Affidavit of Collection was approved by their law department. My lawyer emailed the Trust document today. If I have to have the trust revised, so it is just in my name, it can cost me 2,000 to 3,000 dollars. Hopefully, the Raymond James legal department will approve this, too.

    When I asked the student if she was seeing improvement, she said no.  When I asked her questions like, are you finding it easier to decode long words? Are you finding it easier to read quickly? She answered, yes. Her problem is that she is scared she won’t be able to read the material at the 6t grade level. So her criterion for having improved seems to be that she will no longer feel scared.  I think she has made so much improvement,  I have to wonder how much I have actually taught her.  She either knew a lot, or she is a quick study. She still makes mistakes on words like no, ever, he, or isn’t, but she can read selections on a third-grade level fluently, and her decoding skills are decent. If the school’s initial evaluation of her reading is correct, she made over 2 years of growth in less than a month.  I still have to push her to use context clues.  

    She was exhausted when she arrived but pushed through.  After an hour, I finished reading the end of the chapter for her.  Her grandmother wasn’t there to pick her up.  She sat on one of my sofas and went to sleep. Elsa was lying on a pillow next to her. Thank you, Elsa. 

    I did some work on the blog while she napped. Judy called.  I told her the good news Mike B gave me about my Mike’s book.  She told me that her husband’s doctor thought the symptoms her husband was having were caused by his medication, and they might disappear with adjustment.

    When I walked Elsa, I ran into Jazzy, Adam, Judy’s son,  Leon, Luke, Bones, and Zander. Two adults, two kids, and two dogs.  Jazzy had a promised piece of cake in her hand, which she was delivering to me.  Since I was walking Elsa, she put it into my mailbox.  I picked it up, along with the mail,  when I got home with Elsa.  I did some more work on the blog before I had dinner.

    I had dinner, watched TV and cataloged some books.   I walked Elsa again, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. Good night, Elsa, Goodnight, Mike.

Tuesday, May 14, 2019

      I woke to the alarm today at 6 am.  I walked Elsa, did my oil rinse. I had only a few dishes to wash this morning because I had Callender’s chicken pot pie last night.  They provide their own container. I boiled 2 kettles of water for those lucky weeds: my weeds runneth over.

    I came across a picture of Mike sitting on the sofa with Damon working on a NY Times Crossword puzzle. Things like that make me feel very sad. He was so happy and proud of his son. He loved having him visit. I’ll never see him happy again. I loved it when he was happy.

    Lucky reader: here are more of my thought on selfishness. If agape means sacrificing yourself if you’re enjoying taking care of someone and serving them, does that mean it isn’t agape love?  If I actually enjoyed being in the hospital with Mike day after day, if I enjoyed sleeping on those three chairs in the bathroom because I could be near him, does that mean it wasn’t agape love?  If agape, the highest form of love, requires self-sacrifice, I hope no one feels obliged to extend that love to me.  I want people around me who enjoy me and delight in my joy and happiness, not people who think they have to be in a constant state of self-sacrifice to feel worthwhile. Yuck!     

    I went to Bikram.  I worked on the change to my breathing, moving my whole rib cage. My body didn’t want to experience much movement.  Instead of fighting with it, I lay down and didn’t move for the second half of the class.  Actually, I fell asleep again.  I thought the combined work of the chiropractor yesterday and Bikram today was just too much change for me.  I needed to give my body time to adjust.  I didn’t get up at the end of the class.  

    Yvette came in for the 9:30 class to find me still lying on my mat.  I asked her to take the walker out to the lobby because if I left in the middle of the next class, I would create a disruption. Yvette understood my intent and asked JJ if I could stay and sleep.  He said yes. Nonetheless, I felt ready to leave just before the next class began.  I had some trouble standing up, and Yvette had to come over and help me.  That getting up and down stuff remains a challenge.

    When I got home, I showered. At 10:30, I lay down on my love seat sofa converted into the anti-gravity chair, and fell asleep.  I woke up at 10 of 3 and was still tired. I went to the bathroom and went back to my sofa.  But no, I couldn’t fall back asleep. I got up and got to work on the blog.  I’m running behind again, but I don’t care as much as I used to.  It will be what it will be. 

    I walked Elsa.  I wasn’t particularly hungry for dinner. I hadn’t even finished today’s smoothie.  I had a salad and the other half of the chicken pot pie from yesterday,  and one limeade, as usual; that’s my staple.  I watched Silent Witness. There is considerable variation in the storyline.  It’s interesting, but there isn’t much variation in the main character, Sam Ryan. 

    I started to work on what remained of the credit cards instead of cataloging books. I just sorted some papers.  I will have to take a good look and them over the next several days.   I will call one company a day to make sure things get straightened out.  I do know that I haven’t been receiving statements from most of the companies, so at least they canceled the cards. I want to deal with the bonus points.      

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

Monday, May 13, 2019

    I got up and walked Elsa. I experienced a new discomfort/pain in my hip.  I thought, “Is this it? Has my hip reached the end of its rope?”  I have severe arthritis in my left hip, along with a large bone spur.  Those who look at my X-rays wonder how I even manage to walk. Therefore, I’m always on the alert for the possibility that I have taken my little experiment as far as I can. 

    When I got home, I did my oil rinse, washed the dishes, drank my two cups of water, and boiled one kettle for the weeds.  I got an email from Raymond James telling me what my monthly income is so far and suggesting that the Affidavit and the Trust Fund documentation had arrived and were with the legal team.  There will be more money coming in once social security and NJ pension fund work out the paperwork.  Hopefully, they get that done before I die.

    After worrying that the leg may have reached its end and thinking of changing the surgery appointment so I could do it either in August or October so I could travel in September, I revised my opinion again. I saw more flexion in my left hip as I did my yoga. Bikram, which is the exact same asanas in the exact same order every day, provides an excellent opportunity to evaluate what is going on in my hip.  If I hadn’t been doing yoga, I would never have noticed the improvement. 

    At the end of the class, Yvette dumped her yoga stuff and mine in my car for me to wash when I got home. So glad to have someone else to do something for. I rinsed off and headed to my chiropractic appointment. I had her do work on my body above my armpits both in front and back, and a lot of work on my neck. This work on my upper body is making a massive difference to my spinal curvature.  Who knew?

     I texted Mike Glaser, my second cousin at some remove,  asking him to inform me when he ships the paintings. I had lent three paintings done by my great aunt, and his great-great-aunt,  to the community in Teltow, Germany, for an exhibit of Jewish painters who lived there before the Nazis came.  I have one wonderful painting of a little boy at a petting zoo that I’ve had since I was a young child. Another was done when she lived on the east coast, a painting of Central Park.  The third was done when she lived in Florida; it’s a picture of a scrub pine tree.  

     I stopped off at Home Depot to buy carpet gliders for my dining room chairs; the old ones have worn out or fallen off. I  bought three and a regular Hersey’s Milk Chocolate with whole Almonds.  Okay, I was hungry.  When I got home, I only found two packages of the carpet gliders.  I must have dropped one in the parking lot.

    I made my morning soup and sat down to work on the blog.  Judy called on the house phone. She was in her car coming home from Waimea, where she had her regular blood test as part of the chemo treatment.  She told me that her husband is having some worrying symptoms that may be nothing.  He is going to get it checked. I told her to stop by and see if there was anything she could use from what was left in the pantry.  

    She couldn’t believe all the Chinese sauces Mike had.  She could only use a few of them. When we looked at the second shelf in the pantry, we found a lot of grains that had already gone bad.  One package was completely broken down, reduced to the flour from which it came. Judy left with two shopping bags, and the shelves still looked full. Remember, this is the second clearing. The first was my clearing out all unopened, unexpired cans and bottles, which I gave to a charity. 

    The items in the pantry must have been there long before Mike got sick. While I cleaned the refrigerator regularly,  I never thought to clean the pantry. I figured he’d say something if he thought it was a problem.  Of course, cleaning wasn’t all my responsibility.  I did everything with water: washing floors, carpets, windows, the screens, the counters, the laundry, anything that required a liquid application. It was the only division of labor we had for cleaning. Either he never saw the destroyed food, or he didn’t feel comfortable asking me to do the cleaning.  He usually didn’t do that type of cleaning.  Cleaning out the pantry was going to be a messy job; I put off washing the kitchen floor for another day.

    After Judy left, I did some work on the blog. Then I decided to go out and do some work in the garden.  The vine on the fence between our property and our neighbor’s was getting out of hand.  More seriously, the fruit on that vine was maturing, meaning more vines would be planted. I got out there and started ripping it off the fence.  When I came across fruit, I grabbed it and threw it on the cement driveway.  The fruit gets run over. I dare it to plant its seed there.

    Since I was all hot and sticky and in need of a shower anyway, I figured I’d go down to the bottom of the property to pick more limes.  As I walked down there, I pulled some miscellaneous weeds.  The gardeners usually do this, but I haven’t been up to asking them to return on their regular monthly schedule.  It’s not the money; for some reason, it triggers sad feelings about Mike.  It was Mike who hired the gardener when he came in touch with the reality that he would never be comfortable digging in the dirt himself. I find it energizing.  Well, I find ripping things out energizing; planting, that’s another matter. I think I’m the world’s worst gardener. I have had some luck recently.  I planted a bush that has survived and seems to be thriving. When I lived in Princeton, I couldn’t get a forsythia plant to grow and thrive.

    When I was down at the bottom of the driveway, I saw our neighbor, Ronen, on the other side of the fence. He texted me about a week ago telling me that he was smelling sewage coming from my property every afternoon.  Did we have a septic tank or a cesspool? While cesspools will probably be outlawed soon, everyone here has one.  Our contractor told us that if we hadn’t had problems with it so far, we probably would be good forever. We actually have two cesspools on the property, one for the main house and one for the shed where B lives.  I had asked Ronen to call me the next time he smelled it. I said he should come over then, and we’d work together to locate the source of the problem.  I hadn’t heard from him.  I was thinking there was one of three causes:1) the smell disappeared; 2) he hadn’t been home, or 3) he never received my text.  Number one was the best option, and that’s what it was.  I think B had left garbage lying around when he left for the mainland for a couple of weeks. When he got back, he took care of it. Voila! No more smell. 

    I carried a bucket with 32 limes up the hill to the house, put them in the sink, and filled the pail with water to kill off all the wildlife I had brought in the house with them.  When I took the limes out of the bucket, I sorted them into the ones I had to squeeze before they went bad and the ones that could wait a while.

    When I checked the clock, I saw it was 2:24. Oh, dear.  My student was arriving any minute, and I could not meet her smelling as I did.  I jumped in the shower and got dressed as quickly as I could. I did not do MELT or use the Tiger Tail today. No time.

    I actually had a few minutes before she arrived. I organized my materials and found a story I wanted to work with on the computer that was at a 2nd-grade level.  When she arrived, I showed her the five books I got for her yesterday.  I picked books I thought she might be interested in. She had said that she wanted the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series. I got two of those and picked up some A to Z Mystery Books, too.  The Diary books are on a 5th-grade level, which is the grade she is in, but well below the grade level, she tests on. The A to Z books are on a 3rd to 5th-grade level.  She picked one of the Diary Books.  She has seen other kids in her class, reading them. She said she has seen first graders reading one of the books. That is some good first-grade reader. The book is hard for her, but if this is what she enjoys reading, that’s what she should be reading, whatever her motivation may be.  If she’s not feeling frustrated but challenged, it will keep her nose in the book.  Good enough.  

    On the second grade passage, she only made one mistake that she didn’t self-correct. She read we for he.  Problems with these level- one sight words is so common for kids who had issues when they first started to read.  We also did some work on math. She was showing me how she was dividing fractions and subtracting decimals,  but then she didn’t know how to do subtraction with regrouping.  Over the summer, I want to go through the whole 5th-grade math curriculum. When she doesn’t understand or can’t do something, I can trace where the breakdown comes in and teach that before we go on.

    After she left, I got to work on the blog.  As I was typing, I heard the distinct sound of rain.  I rushed outside to save my Bikram clothes hanging on the line so they will be dry for tomorrow.  After living here for 5 years, I have developed a sensitivity to the sound of rain when I have clothes on the line comparable to a mother’s sensitivity to her child waking up while she’s in a dead sleep.

    I walked Elsa and came more work on the blog. I had dinner, watched TV and cataloged some books.   I walked Elsa again, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. Good night, Elsa, Goodnight, Mike.

Sunday, May 12, 2019

    I woke up at 5:30 am, but I managed to stay in bed until 6:30. I walked Elsa around the whole block because I wasn’t doing Bikram today.  I took a brown paper bag with me to pick up garbage.  Good thing I did; I found two bottles along the way. The rest was just the usual small stuff. When I got home, I did my oil rinse, washed the dishes, and drank two cups of water, and ate some pretzels.  I haven’t mentioned the pretzels before,  but I eat a handful every morning.  I worked on the blog; I got one sent out.  Then I dressed for church. 

    I had to go to the 9 o’clock mass today at St. Michael’s, not the 10 o’clock at Holy Rosary as I usually do because Judy’s grandkids were being baptized.  The baptism was magical.  There were five children baptized this morning. It was part of the service, not something that occurred after the mass for just the family and friends.  Mike did many of those baptisms.  Judy was beside herself with joy.  Jazzy, who is not a Catholic, was very moved by it.

    I saw Melissa singing in the choir. I didn’t know she was back.  Melissa travels all over the world with some organizations like Doctors without Borders to provide free medical services to those in need. I spoke to her about getting together.

    When I got home, Yvette greeted me with her breakfast in her hand. She was eating with me for Mother’s Day.  We had some plans for going to the beach, but I needed a nap first. Damon called while I was napping, but I wasn’t up for answering. I just lay there and smiled as I listened to his voice mail.  I called him back when I go up.  I asked him to ask August for the name of the blog site he recommended.  Damon told me how well August was doing in school and how he does all his work on his own and gets good grades. Damie says they ask him regularly if he needs help, but he doesn’t.  The kid is so independent, so reliable, so self-directed. These folks did something right.

    Damon and I had a long talk about using physical therapy versus surgery to fix specific problems.  Damon had many knee surgeries, including a meniscus cadaver transplant.  He still has some issues with his knee but is committed to dealing with it without surgery.  I talked about changing the way he moved in daily life.  He said it was too much work to do that.  I’ve heard that before.  Mike would complain that a change I recommended was uncomfortable. Duh! If it’s different from what you usually do, it’s not going to be comfortable.  The rule is. “It can be very uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t hurt, particularly no sharp pains.” In my years of dance training, I learned the difference between good pain and bad pain.  People who haven’t had some form of athletic training are probably unfamiliar with the concept and consider all discomfort a warning of physical danger.  Unfortunately, if we are going to make an improvement, some discomfort is going to be inevitable. 

    I talked about tricks I use to incorporate changes in my movement patterns.  I will think of just focusing on the different move for the count of ten or for the number of steps it takes to get from my chair to the bathroom.  If I’m walking around the block, I try to count to 10 or 20 as I emphasize one side and then the next 10 or 20 while I focus on the other side.  However, I also become distracted.  When I remember, I “Start again!” The more difficult the change is for me, the more quickly I become distracted, and the longer it takes me to remember to “Start again!”      The biggie I’m working on now is how I use my abdominal muscles differently to breathe.  I have always expanded my abdominal muscles to inhale and contracted them to exhale.  Now, JJ showed me that I’m supposed to suck my abdominal muscles in and up to inhale and just relax a little to exhale.  I find when I do it this way, I create more space between the top of my hips and the bottom of my ribs.  In other words, besides giving my spine a good stretch with each breath, I’m getting a waist. This is a huge change for me, and it is not comfortable.  If I remember to do it 5 times a day for 10 breathes each, that’s good.  Over time, a long time, it will become automatic, and I won’t have to think about it at all ever again unless I want to modify more.

    I’ve discussed this before: change can be used for good or bad. Some people use it to grow; some people use it to escape themselves.  So sorry! That doesn’t work. “Wherever you go, there you are.”

    Yvette came upstairs again, and we decided it was just too windy to go to the beach. I love it when I go to the beach, but it is hard as hell getting me out of the house. Good thing I have a great view.  Yvette came up and asked if I would like to go to the movie. Nah. I’d have to leave the house and spend money.  

    I did some work on the blog while Yvette sat on the sofa doing something on her phone.  This is something I miss with Mike, someone to sit within companionable silence.  I remember that it was one of the things that made me interested in Mike from the beginning.  He joined Dorothy and me on an excursion to the Brooklyn Botanical Garden.  We all sat together quietly.  I had already experienced that companionable comfortable silence with him once before.

      I was struck by our ability to be comfortable with each other in silence immediately. It was on our second date. We went to the movies to see “The Way We Were.” I remember feeling comfortable standing on line with him saying nothing, just being with him. The things I miss most: loving him and being loved by him, his smile of delight when he looked at me, his continuing feeling that he was unbelievably lucky to have me in his life, and our companionable silence, our total comfort with each other.

    Dorothy had called earlier, and I called her back.  We chatted about the weather and family. Karin and David are planning to travel to the east coast later in the spring.  They checked with their doctor about exposing Sam, their newborn, to the measles.  I don’t think I would take a kid that young outside the house.  Wow! This is scary.  Dorothy and I had most of those childhood diseases since we were born in the 1940s before vaccinations became available except for the one for smallpox. We were lucky.  I have a college friend who lost hearing in one ear due to the measles. I remember my parents talking about children who fell into permanent commas or died. 

    I walked Elsa and came more work on the blog. I had dinner, watched TV and cataloged some books.   I walked Elsa again, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. Good night, Elsa, Goodnight, Mike.

Saturday, May 11, 2019

    I had set the alarm for 7 because on Saturday’s the Bikram class is at 8:30. I woke up at 6:30 am, a little later than usual, walked Elsa, did my oil rinse washed my dishes from last night, and drank my two cups of water.  I left for Bikram.

    After the class, as I drove down the street away from the studio, I heard this horrible sound.  It took me a few minutes to figure out it was coming from the front of my car, very possibly the tire. I would be passing Costco on the way home; I would just stop off there to get it checked.

    First, I stopped off at Kona Bay Books, our local used bookstore, which is right around the corner from the studio.  The store is the size of a grocery store with rows and rows of books.  I was looking for books for my student to read, not me to use with her but for her own enjoyment. While there are a few remaining problems, phonics rules she forgets, and easy sight words that reverse on her, with the use of context clues she should be able to function pretty close to grade level by the end of the summer – if she continues to demand that the sentences she reads make sense.  The need to use context clues to figure out how to pronounce a word in English is true for all of us, even the most competent reader.  

    While I was there, I checked the left front of the car to see where that sound was coming from.  A saw something black hanging down from the inside fender and striking the tire.  It was just a piece of plastic, but I thought it would do damage to the brand new tire. 

    I went to Safeway next.  I picked up a Marie Callender’s chicken pot pie, a whole wheat baguette and a package of salad.

    As planned, I stopped off at the Costco Tire Center.  I went directly to the bays and spoke to one of the mechanics.  He was busy and had another man check out my problem. He said the plastic flap was something that covers the inside of the fender, preventing water from getting in.  He just snapped it back into place. There was still a little piece hanging out, but I didn’t have to deal with that sound anymore.

    At first, I thought the mechanic at Costco had caused the problem when he installed the four new tires the other day. But as I drove home and made a right turn, I heard a familiar sound, one I heard months ago. Ah, so that was the problem.  I thought it had something to do with the shocks and had asked my regular mechanic to check on them.  He said they were fine. But that left me wondering what the problem was. Now, I know. Costco is definitely not responsible.

    Driving home, I dealt with more grief.  It feels like the flaking off of the outer shell is over.  Now, patches are being ripped off from my innards.  It’s not as bad as it sounds.  It’s just that the grief is in a deeper place in me.

    When I got home, I unloaded the car and made my Juice Plus smoothie, which I hadn’t had time to do this morning because I realized too late that it needed to be done.  I boiled 2 kettles for the weeds, played a lot of FreeCell, and sent out Sunday’s blog.  I took my shower, did MELT for my feet, and used the Tiger Tail. Then I did some more work on the blog.

    I had that thick feeling in my head that makes me tired.  Since I was told that I suffer from silent migraines, as my mother did, I’m more aware of them. What are silent migraines? That was my question when my mother told me about them.  I thought, “How can a migraine be silent?  The people I know who have them have splitting headaches, nausea, and can hardly function.” But no. There is such a thing as migraines that have none of those symptoms.   I did a little research. These migraines are rare and occur in women more than men. They are without headaches, but they usually are accompanied by visual distortions and nausea.  Now, I only experience visual distortion once. I saw a pattern, I think it’s called an aura, and the pattern blocked my vision. I have periodically experienced mild nausea.  I use to joke with Mike that I thought I was pregnant.  Since I was well beyond menopause, that would have been a good trick, but then my name is Elizabeth.

    I did more work on the blog while I listened to my Saturday NPR shows.  I was inspired to start reading Mike’s book. It was exciting to read his words.  His book is about the diaconate. One way or another, I’m going to make sure this book gets out there. 

      I have no idea why he didn’t ask me to read his work.  I always gave him what I wrote for the book I’m writing for him to evaluate for clarity and edit for grammar.  He gave great feedback, and it allowed him to get to know my thinking better. He even told me that he got a deeper understanding of my work by editing the chapters. I never asked to read what he wrote.  He never asked to read what I wrote.  

    When we first got together, he was definitely the better writer. He had had more individual instruction due to professors who took an interest in him.  He helped me to become a better writer, a much clearer writer, one who became considerate of my readers. 

    On the other hand, he may have been afraid to have me read what he wrote because I didn’t like his homilies and refused to go to his bible study classes. My problem wasn’t with what he said, it was having my’ husband,’ who was inclined to lecture, lecturing me from the pulpit, especially since our conversational skills were not well developed. 

    It makes me so sad to read his book. I have so many questions. There is so much more that we had to learn about each other.  I’m pretty open. Mike also knew that I was interested in other people.  A conversation is a form of improvisation. Mike wasn’t good at that in an unstructured context.  We were working toward it. On my part, becoming more accepting that this was a difficult skill for him instead of allowing my buttons to be pushed; on his part, trying more. We were still in the early stages.  I do hope that he knew I was interested in what he thought.  

    I have mentioned before the line from TS Elliott’s play, The Cocktail Party, in which he says something on the order of, “Always greet your loved ones as strangers every day.”  I know that I feel that way about myself. I discover hidden parts, despite being with myself 24/7. I find the human condition fascinating. There is always more to learn.  I can’t imagine why people become bored with relationships.  

    I can imagine why people feel trapped.  If I had married a man who didn’t like affection, I would have been in some version of hell.  On the other hand, a partner who had no tolerance for affection would have considered me his vision of hell.  Each to his own.  Mike and I had enough overlap of needs and likes and dislikes to build a satisfying relationship.  While Mike didn’t share my interest in exploring the human condition with everyone he met, he had his own way of pursuing that interest: through books and the counseling he offered to others.  He served me well at times in that capacity.  God, I loved him. It hurts my heart that he’s not here smiling at me in delight in his love for me and mine for him.  It’s only taken me two months and 9 days to get to this point.  Let’s see where we go from here.  

    I did my evening routine, dinner, TV, cataloging.  Then   I walked Elsa, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. Good night, Elsa, Goodnight, Mike.

Friday, May 10, 2019

     I woke up right before the alarm went off.  I checked Scott’s towels and bathing suit hanging on the outdoor clothing line that I hand washed yesterday. The towels were almost dry, but his pants were still wet.

    As I walked Elsa this morning, my leg was continually bothering me.  Then in the Bikram class, I started doing a different kind of a stretch. While standing and bending over, I put all the weight on the outside of my left foot, forcing a realignment of my whole leg.  I felt a stretch that relieved all existing discomfort.  What a find!  How many times have I hit this juncture when I think I’m at the end of the road? I have been told every doctor that someday I will not have a choice;  I will need a hip replacement if I ever want to be pain-free.  So far, every time I have hit the point that makes me think ‘this is it,’ I experience a significant breakthrough. Meantime, I have a rolling appointment for surgery, which is pushed forward every six months. After the class, I remembered to asked JJ how many people were in the express class: 16.

    Driving home, the tumblers on my psyche lined up. I realized that I would never see Mike again. I didn’t like it.  I loved being his life partner.  He was a delight.  I will never see his smiling face; I will never again see his delight on his face when he looked at me; I will never be able to look over as  I sit quietly by myself reading or writing and see Mike in his chair reading or do the NY Times crossword puzzle on his tablet which he bought some time this year under the guidance of his grandson, August. 

    So far, I have mostly been suffering, remembering how Mike suffered for the past year, mainly since November, when he started dialysis. The worst was that drive to the dialysis center three times a week when I had to deliver him to that torture; some of it was unnecessary as they struggled with his defective fistula. We knew the fistula was a problem, but we had been told that it would get better over time. Mike was as cheerful as he could be. He didn’t swamp me with his suffering.  I was okay with it because it was temporary, but the fistula proved faulty and had to be replaced with a port.  And when the end result was death, it all seemed unnecessary torture. Before his pancreatitis attack, he slept a lot, but so did I.  He had to cut back on his activities, but age makes that necessary anyway. He still was able to enjoy what he could do and appreciate me. Can I ask for anything more? He was my hero. 

    I find that I’m feeling his presence in my life is peeling off, the way dead skin flakes away.  He isn’t here to renew the part of me that was conjoined with him, the part of him that was part of me. His presence was getting thinner every day. I experience it on the left side of my being. That’s supposed to be the feminine side. That makes sense because while he loved me as a person, he also loved me as a woman. My identity as a woman, as defined in relationship to him, is going.  It’s not gone yet. Maybe it never will be gone. But it is getting thinner.  I don’t know that I need that part of my identity to survive as a person as Mike’s mother did, but I miss it as I miss him. I don’t know which one I miss more, loving him or be loved by him.  How lucky was I?

    I tried to take a nap.  I didn’t have that lovely deep rest, which I so often get.  I read a little of the book the Yvette gave me “Happiness is an Inside Job.”  It is a repeat of the ideas behind mindfulness meditation developed by Buddha.  A refresher is always good; I need to be reminded. Each author has a different point of view, a new lens to look through the same subject.

    Ace called and said that the burial he had to officiate ended early could he come over right away instead of at two.  I had contacted him and asked him to load the CollectorZ scanning program onto my phone.  John and Ace loaded it on their phones a month ago.  They went through about half the shelves, scanning the books with bar codes and putting the ones they couldn’t on their spines when they put them back on the shelf.  That way, I would know which books had been entered through scanning and which had to be entered manually.  I have been doing the manual entries.  I have added at least 500 books already just doing a little each night.     

    I told Ace that I was also having problems with the automatic online contribution to the church.   He told me I would have to ask Susan or Brenda from the parish office for help with that.  Minutes after he left, Sue called to say Ace called saying I needed help with the online giving. She told me the name of the woman who would help me with it.  Within half an hour, the woman called me. I went through the procedure. I have no idea why I had a problem in the first place.  And then I hit a block again.  I will have to call again. I went back to working on the blog.

    I got the Bikram stuff for Yvette, Scott, and me that had washed off the line and went to work on the blog. Three o’clock, I had a healing client, and then back to working on the blog.

    I walked Elsa, had dinner, watched TV Silent Witness, and cataloged some books.  The CollectionZ program is set up, so the books I enter are automatically downloaded to the cloud and the cumulative list.   

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