Sunday, June 16, 2019

    I must have gotten up to pee at least a dozen times last night.  I usually get up once or twice, but this was a whole different thing.  I have no idea what is going on.  If it continues, I will have to see my doctor. I finally got up around 7:30. 

    Elsa and I did our walk around the block we do on Sundays when I don’t go to Bikram, but today we went around in the opposite direction from what we usually do.  This means that I got to walk on the opposite side of the street.  I didn’t see a lot of garbage, but there were some items for which I would need at least a brown paper bag, which I didn’t bring today.  I also saw something the size of a personal safe dumped in an undeveloped property.  With a deeper look, I saw a white pop tent. I guess there is some homeless person camped out there. 

    Paulette drove us to church.  No, Judy; she was feeling lousy.  While there, I shared the passport picture of Sam, Karin, and David’s son.  It is the funniest passport photo I’ve ever seen.  People were asking if the authorities actually accepted that picture.  Sam was two months old when the photo was taken; his eyes are closed, and he is screaming his head off. Not your typical passport photo.   The family lives in Seattle. A foreign country is just a few miles away and available for day trips.

    Fr. Diego made the announcements and reported a surprise farewell dinner for -Fr. Diego.  This is the second weekend he has made that announcement.  It’s still good for a laugh. 

    I worked on the blog, read the  NY Times, and napped. I woke up when Damon called. We yakked about many things, but not cabbages and kings.  For Father’s Day, they had gone to the top of the tallest building in downtown LA.  In case anyone wants to know, Damon is a great father. And, he is proving to be a super great step-son.  I can’t tell you how much this means to me. 

    Yvette came up while I was ending my conversation with Damon with two slices of pizza in hand. Dinner!  She did me a few favors.  We reshelved the books she took down the other day that I had cataloged.  There were all of 5 books on the top shelf.  She got those down. I scanned three of them with my phone, and we reshelved immediately.  I was going to ask Josh if he could help me figure out how to delete phone messages on the house phone.  I usually deleted all messages, but I suspect there may be some from Mike on there.  I want to save those.  As I talked with Yvette, I showed her how I couldn’t delete them individually – and deleted them.  I just hadn’t held the erase button down long enough. She also carried the large case of almond milk into the storage area for me.  I could do it on my own, but it would be a little more complicated. 

    I sat down to read Chapter 2 of Mike’s book. I found chapter one repetitious and tedious, too academic. Chapter 2 proved much more enjoyable. 

    Yvette had gone down to her quarters and came back up with a laundry load to put in the dryer.  I had been meaning to ask her a question about what it meant to ‘open’ the hips.  She confirmed that it involved an outward rotation of the femur, the leg bone, in the hip socket.  I showed her something I was currently working on, spreading my two hip bones apart. She said, “Opening the hip bowl.” I have been initiating my stride when walking by doing that. It reminds me of how ballet dancers walk, except I keep my feet in parallel.  I said something about walking that way.  It didn’t register with Yvette.  I said if I do that, I’m initiating my stride from my core muscles.  I think the idea is that the more I can engage those large core muscles to perform anything, the better off I am.  I’ve never used my core muscles for walking—good time to start.  Let’s see where this goes.  I may wind up putting too much strain on that arthritic hip and bam, time for Hip Replacement Surgery.  Well, that’s always been a possibility.  So far, so good.

    I sat down to do more work on the blog. I got several entries out today.  Yay, for me. 

    

Saturday, June 15, 2019

    I had set the alarm for 7 today since the Saturday yoga class is at 8:30 instead of the weekday 7:30.  I left earlier than usual today, thinking the class would be jammed. There were 24 in class on a Friday morning.  I figured Saturday would be worse. But no.  There were only 15.   I’m working hard on correcting that turn in on my left foot.  I know it is associated with a hip problem, but that doesn’t make sense to me.  I can believe a hip problem causes it, but there is an additional turn in the lower leg and even more in the ankle. What happens if I straighten the two lower parts of the limb out?  How much will that change? What will it change?

    I stopped off at the U-Haul to pick up some book boxes.  Some boxes can be bought a dozen at a time at half price.  The book boxes didn’t qualify for the discount. I bought three and walked out of the store.  I saw the dimensions on the outside of the box, and 12 x12 x 12 turned around to compare the book box with the small box. The small boxes which can be bought in bulk are 12 5/8 x 12 5/8 x 16.  It’s roughly the same.  Is there some advantage to the perfect cube that I should be aware of? If not, I will buy the small boxes in the future.

    When I got home, I finally took the rejected CDs out of the back of the car and the large case of almond milk I bought at Costco.  I got the CDs inside on my own.  I’m going to have either Josh or Yvette carry in the case of milk, which I left under the eve on the front walk.

    I got to work, calling the kids to confirm their SS numbers.  Yesterday, I got an IRA beneficiary Designation Change form in the mail. I had planned to through the information I had collected from them in the trash.  I was going to tell them that I ate it to make sure their SS numbers were secure. Fortunately, I didn’t. I was moved to check the information.  Yep. Two errors. Shivani’s name was misspelled, and the last two digits of David’s SS were wrong.  Once I had confirmed the information with each kid, I emailed Raymond James and instructed them to make the changes and send me a new form.   I had a somewhat longer conversation with Shivani because we used Facetime, so I Sidney and I could see each other.  This kid remembers my name and Elsa’s. 

    I did some weeding on the back lanai.  I’m pulling out these flowering weeds. It’s a nice plant; it’s just it has a take over the world attitude.  Then I started a laundry with Yvette’s, Scott’s, and my Bikram stuff.  Since Scott has the use of a friend’s bright red truck till October, Yvette hasn’t been picking him up and taking him to class. Sometimes, he winds up in class when she’s not there. As a result, I have been putting his clean laundry in the back of my car for him to pick up without going through Yvette. I referred to myself as a Chinese laundry service with pick-up and delivery.

    I did a lot of work on the blog today. I sent two out and worked on two more.  

    Alexandra was supposed to come over today to work on entering books into The Collector Z app. In preparation, I opened up Mike’s computer.  I put in the password that always worked, but today it didn’t. I’m not sure why. I ‘ll have to check with August on this tomorrow.

I prepared mine for that purpose since I couldn’t get in there to set up the app for Alexandra.  Then I got some books and entered them. Some of the books I wasn’t able to enter previously using the existing collection, I could now.  I’m not sure why.  I think their collection is dependent upon people entering books, and they have an ever-expanding list.  I don’t think the people behind the app enter all these books; they claim they have approximately 500,000 already.  I entered a book that was not in the collection. Then I typed in the name in the search box, and it still came up as not being in the collection. However, I found evidence that it was recorded on my list and not added to the collection.  I called Alexandra and told her that I had to straighten this out before I got her involved.  I also discovered that I found it much easier to do it myself than I thought it would be.  I anticipated problems with my eyes reading all the fine print on the back of the title page. 

    Poor Elsa got a bath today. Fortunately, she is basically a good girl, so I can do this on my own.  Mike and I used to do it together. I washed her in the kitchen sink, and in the end, he had a towel over his shoulder, and she jumped right into his arms.  Since I’m the horrible person who made her wet and covered her with soap, she was not so willing to jump into my arms, even though I’m brandishing a towel. It’s kind of scary.  She wants to jump right off the kitchen counter. Much too high for her. 

    The moment she was on the ground, she shook herself and ran around like a mad dog.  I went out to get the Bikram stuff off the line. Elsa went running out and wiped her mouth on the ground. I said, “Give me a break. I just washed your face.”  Tomorrow, I’m going to have to trim her bangs, or she’s not going to be able to see the ground in front of her soon.

    We did our walk while she was still wet.  She peed and pooped. She was wiggling her way down the center of the street, trying to get all that poop out her when a neighbor passed in her car on her way home.  She stopped concerned, wondering why Elsa was walking in that weird way. We had a good laugh at Elsa’s expense.  

Friday, June 14, 2019

    I had some weird dreams about housing and bathrooms as I lay in bed before I got up.  The house was small and cramped with limited sleeping spaces and many people looking for places to sleep.  That one was new.  I have no idea what motivated it.  The bathroom dreams I frequently have.  They involve me looking for a functioning bathroom and not finding one. My mind has created some weird dysfunctional toilets, let me tell you.  But these dreams are functional. It means I have to go pee, and my nonconscious mind it trying to wake me up and get me in action to get to the working toilet 6 feet from my bedside.

    I emailed Raymond James for the street address of the bank so I could fill out the change of account for direct deposit paperwork for the NJ pension and benefits department. They had a tough time finding the street address. Most companies don’t ask for that much detail.

    I got a good stretch on the inside of my left leg in Bikram today.  A whole new world. We’ll see. The class was full today, 24. I’m delighted. It means it’s worthwhile keeping the studio open.  At the end of class, the woman next to me asked me if I had sciatica and offered to a massage.  A: I don’t have sciatica. B: Yvette, my goddaughter, is a massage therapist; C: I see a chiropractor regularly.  I suppose approaching people that way is a good business move, but I don’t like it.

    When I got home, I threw Scott’s and my Bikram stuff in the washing machine, called the NJ Pensions retirement department for some other information I needed for the form.  I gave Mike’s social security number instead of mine when I was actually filling out the form for myself. 

    I called Jean. She did damage her foot when she stumbled on the uneven ground while showing Damon how they were using the new garage for storing her files. She went to a doctor to see if surgery would facilitate healing. The surgeon said that it wouldn’t make that difference, and she would have to be off her foot altogether for 2 months. Using the boot to promote the healing will take longer, but at least she will be able to take some short walks around the block with John in the beautiful weather of summer. 

    While I was on the phone with Jean, I told her about Dorothy celebrating her birthday with lunch with some friends. LUNCH!  I had a luncheon appointment for 11:30 with Pat and Isabel from Habitat.  I rushed to get dressed. I didn’t have time to shower. I desperately tried to call Pat to tell him I would be late. I called Habitat, repeatedly, dialing every extension in sequence, trying to get hold of someone who could help me reach him.  I spoke to someone at the Restore. He didn’t have the contact information and proposed leaving Pat a note.  I don’t think he quite understood what the problem was. 

    When I finally arrived at the restaurant, I rushed to the elevator to get upstairs to the restaurant where we agreed to meet. While I was waiting for the elevator, Pat and Isabel approached me. Apparently, Mis, the restaurant we were going to eat at, wasn’t open until 12 pm. We ate at Daylight Mind.

    I had a wonderful time. Pat and Isabel told me they wanted my permission to do something to commemorate Mike. Mike had a substantial impact on Habitat here in Hawaii. He reorganized the organization, much to its benefit.  Besides that, I pretty much dominated the conversation telling funny stories.  I’ve lost my appreciative audience when I lost Mike.  If I’m around people who don’t laugh, I forget I’m funny.  Now, that would be a tragedy.  My sense of humor keeps me balanced.

    Ann Marie came into the restaurant long after we arrived. I asked her if she would like to join us.  Lo and behold, she came for that purpose.  I got to know her a little better, which I enjoyed.

    I left at 1:30. In the parking lot, I realized I would be home just in time for my tutoring client.  Numbers and time are not my strong suit.  I was so tired from the luncheon, I just wanted to sleep.  She canceled; I slept.

    When I got up, I played FreeCell, worked on the blog, walked Elsa, shower, did  MELT, ate dinner while reading The Second Mountain.  

    While working on the cataloging tonight, I found a three-ring binder with a book Mike worked on.  This is the one I knew he was writing, Introduction to Foundations in Theology, based on the courses he taught at the Josephinum Seminary.  The book on the diaconate came as a complete surprise.   I have to wonder why he shared so little of me. I, in contrast, am a constant font of information about myself.  No surprise there, I’ll bet.  I like sharing.  I expect others to share. While I’m a great talker, I’m not bad as a listener, either.  I’ve had to work to get that skill under my belt, but I’m reasonably accomplished by now. 

    I will have to ask Mike Berstene if this book is also in the drop box. I don’t want to bother him at this point because he hasn’t even gotten back to me about the Paulist’s Press response to Mike’s book on the diaconate.  They have agreed to read it and consider it, but that’s the last I heard.    

Thursday, June 13, 2019

First thing this morning, I  called the Ohio and NJ retirement departments to make arrangements for changing the accounts for direct electronic deposit.  There is a 6 hour time difference between the east coast and Hawaii. I have to make phone calls early.

    At Bikram, Heather, the instructor told me that she finally realizes what I am doing; I am making minor adjustments with major results.  She gets it. She sees my sequencing. I deeply believe in the impact of well thought through small changes.  

    After Bikram, I went to Island Naturals for pumpkin seeds and to pick up some progesterone cream. I always have to check because you have to buy stuff on the island when it’s available.   Everything is shipped in; we often find products we want are not on the shelves. 

    It was off to Target next to by AZO, considering the possibility that I did have a urinary tract infection.  This has been the weirdest experience.  I am only suffering mild discomfort.  It is nothing like any other UTI I have ever had before. If Jean hadn’t told me about her experience with a symptom-free UTI until she developed a fever, I would never have considered it.  Of course, while I was there, I bought Hersey Milk Chocolate bars with whole almonds.  I bought a dozen and got some money off as a result.  Wow! Got one free.

    As I pulled out of the parking lot, I called Dorothy. Today is her 74th birthday. She just had lunch with two friends.  I sang the ridiculously off-key version of Happy Birthday that Mike and I used to serenade family.  It was an accommodation to Mike’s inability to carry a tune. When he was up on the altar during Mass, if he sang, the pastor told him to turn off his mic. Dorothy and I talked about family.  She also said that the way our family handled Mike’s death should be held up as a model.  She has heard of situations where people fight with each other about the outcome. 

    The legal responsibility for Mike’s life lay with me, but I would never have made a decision without consulting Damon, his son. Even if we had different points of view, I doubt we would have fought about it.   

    Damon was a little ahead of me in his thinking.  We had a consultation with the palliative care team the Monday before Mike died.  I thought we were talking about how to make him more comfortable to reduce stress and facilitate healing. Damon’s first question was, “Are we keeping him alive for him or for ourselves?”  It was somewhat of a surprise but not a shock.  The following Saturday, he called Yvette to say that he was ready to let him go.  I might have been, but I wanted some sign from Mike that this is what he wanted. Thanks to Deacon Clarence and his wife Vi, I was able to get that confirmation from him.  Then I was happy, yes, really happy, to let him go. 

    When I got home, I called the Deceased Department at the credit card company about the bonus cash reward. They had rejected the documentation that I had sent: a power of attorney and Affidavit of Collection.  They said they needed court issued documents. I finally got to speak to a supervisor. That was most helpful.  First off, the Trust document naming me as a trustee would be just fine.  Second, the joint card, which I had been told I could no longer have access to, had been assigned to me. I had initially been told that I had no claim to our joint card because it was primarily in his name, and I was an add on. I guess that was wrong.  The cash bonus reward points had been credited to the bill.  I pointed out to the supervisor that poor people, for whom these bonus points might make a huge difference in the face of a loss of a loved one, probably had no documentation which they could use.  She agreed with me.  Maybe someday poverty will be considered a handicap like any other factor which prevents people from having equal access to the world at large, and there will be some special legislation for making the necessary accommodations.

    I did some work on the blog and then went to take a nap. I wasn’t particularly tired but didn’t want to do much of anything else. Also, last night I actually had insomnia. I was able to meditate myself through the night and didn’t wake up exhausted. 

    I set the alarm for 3:30pm because I had a healing client on the phone at 4.  He called promptly.  He is a wonderful client willing to face himself to heal—a really amazing man. 

    I played FreeCell for a while and then walked Elsa. Dinner was the leftover salad which Brenda made for dinner the other night.  It was a  good-sized salad, two slices of multi-grain baguette, and my lime, now, lemonade, since I have to buy lemons from Costco instead of pick limes off a tree at the bottom of my garden. I went off to watch some TV.  I worked on the blog entry for the day before cataloging some books. I walked Elsa at the end of the evening. When we got home, I  washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. Good night, Elsa, Goodnight, Mike.

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Musings:  I’m putting this separately so those who are not interested can choose not to read it.

    C.S. Lewis talked about seeing the loss of his wife as a phase of life,  just another phase of the marriage.  I like that.   I do find myself doing everything with Mike in mind. But I always did that, so there’s no difference. I’ve become aware that I’m doing that when I do something different, like sweep the tiles on the outside lanai, and think of how he would have loved that.  

    I’m still changing and becoming in response to him, his needs, and desires.  But I am noticing that there are ways I have ‘become him.’ No, I am not becoming a deacon in the Catholic church; besides, women need not apply.  There are changes in how I manage things.  I am very aware of his influence on me.  Thank you, Mike. God, I loved that man.

    Did we do exciting things? Share thoughts? Oh, by this point, it was just a joy to be in the presence of someone I was completely comfortable with. I rarely, if ever, had that feeling of tightening gut muscles because I felt frustrated with him.  I believe he felt the same way about me.  Sometimes, I would check and asked him if he felt controlled by me.  I asked because everything seemed to be going my way. He said no.  I certainly didn’t want him to feel wiped out by my needs.

On the other hand, I’m taking care of money matters now.  I do it differently than Mike, and I prefer my way.  When he was alive, I knew we had enough that I didn’t have to worry about him accumulating debt.

    As far as Mike was concerned, money was better in his pocket than in companies he purchased things from.  He paid off credit cards piecemeal.  Me, not so much.  I never want to be in debt.  I wanted everything paid off immediately. I have a greater sense that things can change on a dime, and I want to be ready. Perhaps that’s because of my parents’ experiences going through two world wars and a devastating inflation, which preceded the disastrous depression the United States shared with the rest of the world.  Mike’s parents were born in the US.  They were first-generation Americans born here.  While they had their trials, they didn’t have to deal with the number of radical changes in their circumstances my parents did.  

   

Wednesday, June 12, 2019

    After I followed my morning routine, I had a telephone appointment with my therapist in Ohio.  I  worked on my mixed feelings about having my work being seen and valued versus not being seen and valued. Images of being attacked came up. My mother used me, and my sister, as whipping boys for release of her own anxiety. She also believed that being seen by others was to put ourselves in danger.  My mother did suffer from PSTD; unfortunately, she never questioned her own perceptions of the world and passed on her distorted view to her children, leaving me afraid of making my own ideas too visible to the larger world. While my mother’s world view was tilted, it is also true that when new ideas or just ideas that contradict someone else’s ideas are presented in a professional context, attacks are unleashed.  The worlds of science and education are rife with legendary conflicts.  They’re not called the ‘reading wars’ for no reason. I have presented benign ideas in conferences, had most of the audience appreciative, and had someone stand up and attack my ideas and me- verbally, fortunately.  I think people have a rough time having their own concepts challenge, and this goes for all of us, including me.

    To heal my own wounding, I did what I affectionately call ‘posthumous’ family therapy.  Do I believe I am really talking with my deceased relatives?  I don’t give that much thought. I know that doing the work this way helps me to be a calmer and better person.  That is the goal of my therapy.  If it also helps a deceased relative, great. 

    Instead of arguing with my mother to get her to stop attacking me, which was my usual response, I focused on the pain I felt in response to her scathing comments, spit at me like hate.  It felt like a cat was clawing at my insides. I allowed myself to suffer her attack without making any effort to defend myself.  In my imagination, my body deflated like a balloon. My deflated appearance alarmed my mom.  She didn’t understand what was wrong.  

    My mother held on to the cherished belief that she could do no harm if she didn’t mean to.  I think she knew she was talking to me in ways she would not want to be talked to, but she also believed that she was just doing it to relieve her tension and not to hurt me. However, she did believe that if she was hurt, that was the other person’s intent. She had a very simple-minded theory: good people can do no harm because they don’t mean to, but if she was harmed, that meant the other person wasn’t a good person.  However, now she saw me deflated, and she understood that I was hurt. I turned to walk away so I could heal. She could not compute that she was responsible for the damage. She stood there in a state of complete confusion; the situation was beyond her comprehension.

    I called in Mike, who loved her and understood her as I did. He sat with her as she screamed for me not to abandon her.  He restrained her and comforted her.  He assured her that I would come back once I had healed myself.  At the final moment, she was distraught with confusion. She could not, would not, grasp that she did harm to her own children with her behavior.  My mom wasn’t narcissistic.  Her emotional development was too arrested for qualify for that category. She was like a young child.

    I didn’t make notes on the rest of the day, but I do know I had a nap after the session. It was a lot to process.

    I’m sure at the end of the day, I walked Elsa, had dinner while I read, and then went into Mike’s study/library to watch some tv and catalog books. 

I walked Elsa at the end of the evening. When we got home, I  washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. Good night, Elsa, Goodnight, Mike.

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Musings:  I’m putting this separately so those who are not interested can choose not to read it.

   

    I’ve been reading Brooks’s thoughts on marriage. I don’t get it; he sees personal growth as contradictory to a deep commitment to marriage. He sees personal growth as ego-driven. Huh? I don’t know who he has been reading and who he’s been talking to, but he works with very different premises than I do. 

    To begin with: his implicit definition of ego. Yes, ego has Something to do with the individual, but it does not necessarily mean individualism.  (But that’s another who topic.)  People in collective societies see themselves as part of the whole have egos. In these cases, they see themselves as a member of this group versus that group.  Ego just answers the question: who am I? and what am I? Now, some people resist any form of change. 

    While I can see why groups calcify with each individual in the group bolstering the rigid thinking in each other,  that is a group ego, ethnocentricity.  But in today’s world, I have no idea why individual egos calcify when they don’t have the pressure to remain constant, and become smaller and smaller people in defense of Something or another.  These people can be wholly devoted to a cause.  They can be self-sacrificing. But that is all part of their self-image; the ‘who I am’ that they will fight to the death to preserve.  

    Some people study and learn but only memorize what they have been taught. They remain untouched by what they learn, except in some small neurological way that the cells change with every new experience.

    I entered my relationship with Mike as an adventure, wondering how it would change me. That it would change me was never a question. I had specific parameters in mind for a partner. I wouldn’t have engaged in this experience with just anyone. He had to have a robust ethical framework, and he had to have the necessary intelligence to cope with mine without feeling diminished; that was a must.  He had to be someone who had a respect for me just not as a woman but as a person.  He couldn’t have one criterion for a man and a totally different one for a woman when it came to respect my point of view.  That was out!!!! I had spent my childhood defending myself from a mother that couldn’t tolerate a point of view that differed from hers. No more! I had done my tour of duty, thank you anyway.

    You’re not to think that Mike always saw it my way.  No, no. I wouldn’t expect any human being to see everything my way.  I think that’s Something we all want, but being able to cope with it not being on life’s menu is what separates the men from the boys.  I often had to stand up for my point of view. What he offered me was a  commitment to consider my point of view, even if it was difficult for him. He was somewhat more rigid in his thinking that I am but committed to considering what he heard.  He wanted a worthy opponent; I was that for him, and he welcomed that. There were moments in our marriage where he stubbornly stuck to his point of view.  However, when a third person spoke up to defend mine, and he saw that he had wiped me out, he was devasted by his own behavior. 

    We both saw each other as someone who would help the other grow.  We accepted the other as a teacher, as in the way life is a teacher.  I would be worn down and expanded in ways that only Mike could affect me.  We both thought we would become bigger, better people. We both wanted to be good people. That was our priority. We both realized that if we failed to meet that goal, the other would help us get better, larger.  We both became bigger people because of our marriage. Sometimes it took some energetic work to iron things out.

    I think Mike was more willing just to accept things about me he didn’t like than I was to accept Something about him. He was less likely to think I would respond to his requests;  I think because in his history, he found his family of origin was unwilling to respond to the needs of others except under pain of Something. But I have faith that people are willing to change to accommodate the needs of others – as best they can.  This does not mean that I say I see someone else’s point of view and make an immediate change, or expect the other person to do so in response to me. Real change takes time and effort and loving reminders. Also, it is everyone’s job to discern what changes to be open to.  If it is always one person who is making the changes and accommodations, Something is very rotten in Denmark.  Unless someone married the second coming of Christ, both parties in a marriage are flawed.  Discerning which one has to make the changes or if both have to make changes on a particular issue is vital.  

    If there is one party in a marriage who believes or has been convinced that they are always the one in the wrong, boy oh boy, Something is terribly wrong. Well, if it is both, jumping up to accommodate someone’s’ s stated need is not always the most loving thing to do.  I think we’re in the area of codependency now.  Brooks described a couple who agreed that they would always respond to the other’s request no matter how outrageous. As with all agreements, it requires faith that it will not be abused. 

    Mike and I had an agreement.  Ours was created out of our needs to control our boundaries. We had been raised in families where our boundaries were not respected.  I suggested a signal which would tell the other person to stop whatever they’re doing on a dime unless there was some life-threatening situation in play.  

    I had taken a course in Life Saving. We learned ‘the life-saving tap,’  which students use when they are practicing saving someone who is ‘drowning.’  Since the ‘drowning’ person has to struggle against the ‘lifesaver,’ there has to be a signal which clearly communicates that one of the practice partners is indeed in trouble and needs to come up for air.  They tap twice on the other person’s body.   Mike and I used that for years until it became needless. Again, this, too could have been abused.  One party could have used to limit the other from just about any activity, speaking, breathing, coming within 10 feet.  If someone’s priority is control versus connection, anything can and will be abused.

    Mike and I both became more of the people we always wanted to be in this marriage. I can’t think of a better evaluation of a marriage.  And we both became better people for ourselves and for others. We didn’t just become better at skills that were only related to the relationship or the larger community. I became more tolerant and less reactive.  This does not mean that I don’t reject people for their behavior. Believe me, I do. Tolerance is never total. That is victimhood and codependency. 

    What we adapt to has to be subjected to serious appraisal.   Actions that are bad for ourselves and bad for others should not be accommodated.  That is doing harm to self or/and to others.  We have also to stand up and set our boundaries. Again, I refer to the narrow way: the way that is perfect for both the self and others, where perfect does not mean giving people what they want in all cases. Never that. Saying no can be the most loving and healing thing a person can do.  We must set our boundaries.  If we don’t, we turn the other into the villain while we suffer nobly.  If we allow people to victimize us, when there is an alternative available, we are as guilty of doing harm as the ostensible villain.    

   

Tuesday, June 11, 2019

  

    My ankle still bothered me on my walk with Elsa this morning.  It will take a while for the muscles, tendons, and ligaments to adjust to this new alignment. It doesn’t actually hurt, it just buzzes at me telling me something is going on.  I’m taking it easy because I don’t want to ask more of those body parts than they can give at this time. That could lead to an injury.

    I was equally cautious during Bikram.  I can imagine people who watch me work and see me do ‘less’ than I have done in the past, thinking, “Oh, poor Betty!” because I can’t do the posture to the full degree I was able to do it before.  But they are the ones that just don’t get what I’m doing.  A change like my ankle alignment means starting from scratch again.  If I give my ankle time to adjust, I will eventually be able to do more.  Also, my objective in doing Bikram is never, and I do never mean the postures. It is always my alignment. I use the yoga postures to improve my posture, which, due to my spinal curvature and several injuries and age, needs a lot of improvement. I keep on trucking.

     I spoke to the librarian at the Notre Dame Catholic Seminary in New Orleans today at length.  I had a list of books that I thought he would be immediately interested in.  I could just mail him those and never have to list them in the CollectorZ ap. He was excited about one series I mentioned. He said it was a classic, and he knew a seminary in Africa that could use them.  As it winds up, his collection was never damaged by Katrina. The seminarians all rallied and moved all the books from the first floor to the second, and the collection is intact. 

    While this makes me glad for the seminary, it makes me incredibly sad for Mike. He was so proud of his collection, and he so wanted to keep all the books together. His first thought was to give the collection to our godson, Mowgli. Really? The kid lives in one-bedroom apartments, yes multiple apartments because he moves a fair amount. Totally unrealistic.  The next was the Josephinum Seminary, where he taught for 12  years.  They’d have to build a new room to accommodate his 3,000+ books.  I knew what he wanted is not realistic.  I knew that not being able to give him what he wanted was not my fault, but it makes me so sad.  I loved making him happy.  There isn’t much I can do for him now. When he was alive, I could handle it when I disappointed him or just couldn’t give him what he wanted. That’s life! But it’s no longer life. It breaks my heart. 

    John Coughlin had asked me if it would be easier if I sent a partially completed list of the books or wait till I finished cataloging the whole batch.  I may be wrong on how the app works, but it seems that if I send a partial list and then an updated one, the librarian would have to look through the whole list to find the added books. It sounds like an egg hunt on Easter Sunday but less fun. 

    I called Raymond James this morning, too.  The trust fund has been set up, and I received the checks for my new checking account. Now, I have to see that all agencies that make automatic electronic deposits into my account and all agencies that receive automatic electronic payments from my account are informed.  Then we can finally close out that individual account that is outside the trust. 

    Big news! I was able to reach my left ankle to wash it for the first time in years, 14 years.  I did MELT after the shower and started making calls to change my electronic deposit and withdrawal information. Social Security told me it would be a 50-minute wait before I got someone to talk to.  I walked around arranging things to do for the next 50 and charged my phone; the clerk came on in five minutes-tops! This process was easy peasy.  This month’s check will arrive tomorrow and go into the old account, but July’s check will go into the new account. 

    Then I called Kaiser Permanente. That was a little confusing. I said I wanted to change my automatic payment account information. First, she told me I had to write a letter canceling my current account. When that was done, they would send me information and open a new account.  Huh!  I asked, can’t I just send in all the information immediately. Then she said she would send me a form to just change the account information. Then we were on the same page. It will take Kaiser 30 to 60 days to process this information. Social Security can do it in 7 days, and Kaiser takes 30-60 days?  One has to wonder. 

    After playing FreeCell for a while to comfort myself (Yes, it does have some soothing effect) and working on the blog (which has a much, much greater soothing effect), I took my shower, did MELT, and got to work on weeding the garden and cleaning the house in anticipation of my dinner guests, Brenda and Don (Chef Boyardon), who cooked a curry chicken with broccoli and rice.  When Don told me what he was cooking, he asked if it was okay with me.  I said no.  Really! That was a joke.  I am so grateful that people are willing to cooperate with my needs.  How lucky can I be? I supposed if I were allergic, that would be a different matter, but I’m not.

    If I haven’t mentioned it before, I, at the age of 78, have made a fantastic discovery – the broom. Neither Mike nor I ever thought just to sweep the floors.  This is particularly applicable here in Hawaii, where most of our flooring is tile or Pergo.  Also, we have tile right outside our bedroom door under the overhang as part of the back lanai.  Beyond the tiled area, the rest of the area is covered with these very annoying small rock chips, for lack of a better term.  When I go out there in my Crocs, they always get inside my shoes.  I drag these chips into and all over the house when I go in and out to hang up laundry or do some gardening.  Mike hated these rocks chips on the outside tile and all over the house.  He thought it was all my fault. What was I supposed to do, never go out there, never weed, never hang up the clothes to dry? 

    I finally noticed that these rock chips were all along the tiled area, even where I never stepped.  I think the wind may blow them.  Either way, I finally swept the area, discovered how much I enjoyed doing it, and am looking forward to doing it again.  It makes me sad when I think of something that would have pleased Mike, but he is no longer here to enjoy it. He loved order; chaos was his worst nightmare.  Just before he got sick, I went on a cleaning binge. I finally got rid of several gallon bottles sitting on the floor of our linen closet. Things like that made him so happy. Life is a work in progress.

    My monthly date for giving Elsa her heartworm pill and tick and flea protection is the 10th.  I gave her the pill yesterday and did top-spot today. Another breakthrough learning experience: I just learned how to open the blister pack, so I don’t rupture the container. There are clear directions, only I never read them and made up my own method, which is not as effective as theirs. Surprise!

     Brenda and Don arrived at 5.  Don started with cooking the rice.  I still had 5 (five) different varieties of rice left in the pantry from when Mike did the shopping that hadn’t gone bad yet.   Don selected a wild rice mix. I couldn’t find Mike’s rice cooker.  I think when he bought a One Pot, he got rid of his rice cooker. Don chose a saucepan to cook the rice. 

    Don and Brenda had brought some wine with them from a friend. That bottle was bad.  I pointed them to Mike’s collection on the enclosed lanai.  They opened one bottle, and it was also bad.  Slowly I get rid of food items as guests discover that they’ve gone bad.  Brenda also had to throw out one of the packages of chicken because of freezer burn. 

    The curried chicken with broccoli with rice dish was delicious.  For dessert, I served the homemade chocolate cupcakes from Judy.  They were spectacular. The company was just what the doctor ordered.  I laugh with these folks. We also talked about Mike, remembering shared moments. Brenda remembered a party at their house some years ago. There was a croquet game. When Mike got up to participate, he touched me on the shoulder as he passed. She could see how much he loved me. I remember how much I loved being with him and how much I continue to love him.  My memories of Mike are mostly good, and the ‘bad’ ones just make me smile. There was so much respect and trust that there were never any seriously bad ones, other than that period when there was dead space between us. That wasn’t fun. I don’t remember that with a smile.  But because we both waited it out, we came out of that period and went on to have an even better relationship than we had had before.  I feel so blessed.

Monday, June 10, 2019

    I was up as usual with all the usual morning routines. I was planning to call the seminary in New Orleans to tell them about the set of books they might be interested in immediately, but when I got home at 11 am, they would be closed already.   I had the chiropractor at 9:30 and wanted to stop off at the Kona Bookstore to see how much I could get for the CDs I brought in.
    The chiropractor continued working on my upper body, particularly my neck, and the muscles around my shoulders.  Then she worked on my left ankle. As far as I could determine, the foot was out of alignment. The ankle is too far over the arch. I've been working on lowering the outer edge of the foot to the ground to correct the problems. Hopefully, the work, the chiropractor, did will move the process along.
    I stopped off at the bookstore.  Unsatisfying results: $15 store credit or $4.67 in cash, and they returned most of the CDs I gave them. They only took 4.  Apparently, they don't currently have a big need for Classical music. I took the cash since I'm going to have to pay for the shipping of the books. It's going to cost a pretty penny.  When I talk to Mike about the work I'm doing, he is very concerned about me.  He never did well l when I had to extend myself for him.  He felt guilty.  I told him to shut up.
    I am missing him more for two reasons.  Mike found me funny.  We laughed together a lot.  Outside the house as deacon and teacher, he was the comedian, but in the house I was, and he was my appreciative audience. As Damon said, my humor is not for everyone.  It situational and ironic with a dry presentation.  Some people actually believe I'm serious when I say certain things or say things in a certain way that makes others laugh.  They think I'm unaware that I'm being funny. That's scary.
    However, I must say that there was a period when I was living in the commune when no one laughed at what I said. Then this woman moved in, and she laughed.  I thought, 'Wow! I mean to be funny! "I had forgotten because of the lack of appropriate audience response. I'm concerned my sense of humor will languish without feedback. I need my humor to keep me balanced.
    I was explaining to the chiropractor that comedy involves two elements, at least these are the two elements I play with: defying expectations and timing.  I told her that a good comedian can read the telephone book and sound funny.  I must have had some natural awareness of this principle, but then I also read about it.  A comedy writer wrote how if she changed a sentence, she had to make sure to keep the same rhythm because the comedy depended upon it.
    I've told this story before: When I was at the University of Wisconsin, a friend asked me to audition with him.  He made a selection from TS Elliott's The Cocktail Party. It's a dramatic piece.  In the audition, while we were allowed to finish our presentation, the talent scout from Hollywood said, our performance was very good, but the audition was for comedy.  I said, "Give us five minutes." We came back and redid the reading. I have no idea if we were really funny, but I got the offer, not my audition partner. That was fun. Thank God I told him to forget it.  I would never have been a good life for me.
    When I got home, I tried to call the librarian at the seminary. I got a voice mail.  I suspect the library is closed because all the students are gone. I'll call tomorrow and find out.
    I was feeling down. I'm imagining an unsatisfying life.  I had struggled with this when Mike was alive. I want more recognition for my work and all the processes for therapy and teaching that I have developed. This is what I've devoted my life to. I remember as a teenager declaring, "If there's a way into this mess, ( in this case referring to my own unsatisfactory psychological state), there's a way out, and I'm going to find it." I felt that if I could find it for myself, I could help other people. And, that became the purpose of my life.  While I certainly have helped many people, something within me hungers for recognition – while at the same time being repulsed by the whole idea. I haven't found my way out this double bind.  I don't know if my need for recognition is healthy or not.  If it's not, I definitely don't want to pursue it.  I think we all have to be careful about what we pursue.  My uncle once said to me, "Always go after what you really want. Only make damn sure you want it, you just may get it."  It's like the Chinese curse, "May you live in interesting times."
    I washed the kitchen floor yesterday. Today before I did anything else, I washed the hall floor.  My white tiles with white grout look brand new when I wash the floor sucking up the water with my Rainbow vacuum cleaner.  Love it.  I also vacuumed the living room rug and put Yvette's and my Bikram stuff in the washing machine. Scott was in class today but didn't give me his stuff to take home.  I read some of Sunday's NY Times.  I tried to nap, mostly to avoid thinking and feeling. I didn't sit down to do the blog.  I am beginning to feel that sadness about my life.  Mike would help get me out of these funks by loving me and laughing with me. Others help, but they're just not the same thing.
    Jean had called while I was at the chiropractor's. I called her back after I finished my housing cleaning.  She is still struggling with her foot. She also said she is having some problems with her knee.  Her back seems to be okay.
    Brenda called and said that she was too busy to come over to go through my freezer to pick out food to cook for tomorrow night's dinner when she and Don were planning to come over. Naturally, they were cooking.  I took all the chicken out of the freezer that I could find.  Mike had bought the meat from Costco and then broken it up into smaller packages so it would be easier to defrost and prepare for single meals.  I couldn't even tell for sure what is chicken and what might be a different kind of meat. Most of these meats have frost accumulated on them by now—time to use it all as quickly as possible.
    My student arrived late. She was exhausted and had trouble remembering some of the things I already taught her. She is having trouble remembering the procedure for addition, moving up or down in columns, versus double-digit multiplication, which is a crossing pattern.
    After she left, I got the Bikram stuff off the line and got it ready for tomorrow and finally sat down to do some work on the blog.  Writing does help my mood.
    I didn’t take notes for the rest of the day.  I can be reasonably sure my evening routine was the same. Walk, dinner on the screen lanai reading and glancing up at the sunset, watching TV while cataloging books and then I walked Elsa at the end of the evening. When we got home, I  washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. Good night, Elsa, Goodnight, Mike.
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Musings:  I’m putting this separately so those who are not interested can choose not to read it.

    Brooks writes a lot about people who experience satisfaction by putting in an all-out effort, often sacrificing themselves.  I certainly agree that strain produces a great deal more than just gain; its by-product can be deep satisfaction. However, everything is in a context, and there are many ways of producing that sense of effort.
    There is nothing worse than living a life at the speed of idling, no strain, no gain, and, more importantly, no satisfaction.  We love putting ourselves out.  Why do some choose not to?  I have lived much of my life at full tilt. I invest and invest deeply.  Of course, there are things I am also afraid to invest in that I would love to.  Fortunately, Mike wasn't one of those things.  I invested in him fully.  It was an excellent choice. Yay, for me.
    I have also invested deeply in developing methods for helping people deal with difficulties in their lives and ways of teaching.  I was driven to resolve those issues. I was fortunate to have discovered them and pursued them.  They gave my life meaning.  However, I'm blocked at putting those ideas out.  People have told me forever to write books about the methods I have developed.  I have started one, but it's like pulling teeth.  Lucky me, Mike's death has given me so many things to do. I'm happily distracted from writing that book. Then again, who would read it? I can't seem to find people who are dying to know what I discovered.   I still want to put it out. Maybe someday, it will have meaning for others.
    Full tilt effort alone does not guarantee satisfaction.  The sign over the entrance at Auschwitz reads, "Work makes free1" Those folks had to live a full tilt just to survive, but I doubt they experienced much satisfaction.  I doubt those who are forced to work by others find that kind of satisfaction.  So, there has to be coordination between the effort and the connection to a meaningful activity for each one of us.
    I can remember an incident that required great effort, provided satisfaction, and had little meaning in the term's broader sense.  Mike and I were taking a walk in our neighborhood in Princeton, NY.  We came across a large tree branch that had been knocked down in a storm. I proposed taking it home. Mike was game.  You have no idea how heavy it was. We only had to walk two blocks, but we had to put it down frequently to rest our straining muscles.  It felt wonderful.  We were able to strain to accomplish something. Although it was hardly a world-shattering goal, our bodies felt great after the effort.
    Full throttle efforts feel great when they are part of a group effort.  Unfortunately, those efforts don't have to be for the greater good of all concerned. As I mentioned before, although I misspelled the word, we produce oxytocin whether we are performing a loving healing act for the benefit of all involved, or acting in unity with our tribe to destroy some common enemy.  The satisfaction comes from working with and for others, giving our all.  This seems to be a basic human need.  I believe if we don't have a chance to express this need, we experience a form of emotional congestion, which can be ultimately deadly.

Sunday, June 9, 2019

    I woke up this morning dreaming of hugging and kissing Mike. Boy, I miss that contact. A couple of people have expressed concern for my mental state.  No, I’m not depressed. While I sleep a lot, I don’t have trouble getting out of bed when I feel I’ve slept enough.  Sleep seems like a somewhat healthy reaction to such a significant change.  It’s like recovering from an illness. I have a dis-ease.  Also, I continue to enjoy things, besides playing FreeCell.  And I don’t feel like my life is empty and without meaning.  When those hit, I’ll let you all know. 

    I did the long walk around the block with Elsa since I was not going to Bikram. The other day I noticed that the wear at the bottom of my shoes was different left to the right foot. I place my right heel down further back on the foot than I do my left heel. I had been concentrating on putting the outer edge of my left foot on the ground as I walk changing the alignment.  Now, I’ve switched the focus to pulling my right hip back as I walk so I can extend my left leg further and have my heel strike further back on the left foot.  It’s an unwinding process.  I work on one side of the body, do as much as I can there, and then it’s time to switch the focus to another side or part of the body.  It’s all part of the process.

    When Elsa and I went for our walk, I finally dropped off a card in Alexandra’s mailbox with my telephone number. She said she would be interested in working for me on her summer break from high school entering books into the CollectionZ ap.  Because there was no Bikram this morning, Elsa and I continued on the long walk around the block. When I came around the corner returning to our block, I noticed the wheel thingy and axel were gone.  I did find one short metal tube, which I suspect came from the contraption.  I picked that up. 

    When I got home, I showered, did MELT for both my feet and my hands. Paulette texted me, asking if I was going to church. She said Judy was still in bed and concluded she was not going. Judy hasn’t been to church in a while because she feels so lousy from the chemo.  I told Paulette to text me as she was leaving her house so I could be waiting out front. I waited and waited. She was unusually late, so I called her. Judy had gotten up and decided to go. How exciting!  While I waited for them to pull up, I weeded the edge of the driveway.

    I was tired in church.  That dream this morning about Mike exhausted me. I miss him.  Fr. Diego announced his farewell dinner on June 28. Someone else is leaving the parish.  Pretty soon, there will be no priests who knew Mike. Sad.

    When I got home, I read some of the NY Times and napped – for four hours.  When I got up, I worked on the blog. Elsa started something new.  As I sit and work on the blog, she climbs up on my shoulders, nestles between the back of the chair and my back and pants away.  I have to check if her rapid breathing is normal for her breed. 

    Paulette came to the door with some goodies Judy had baked from scratch, cinnamon buns, and chocolate cupcakes. 

    I texted August to remind him that he never read the poem he had prepared for school to me.  He said he was going to have to review it first and would read it to me tomorrow. We had some back and forth via text on the meaning of the poem. I found it funny.  He didn’t exactly get that.

    I also spoke to Cylin, who knows the publishing world.  I asked how long it might take before we hear from the publishing house about whether or not they are willing to publish Mike’s book.  She said it could take a while. Pursuing that information is an agent’s job.  We don’t have an agent. Mike Berstene is not only acting as an agent, but he is also going to be the proxy author.  She said the publishing business slows down over the summer. People go on vacation. This is particularly true for academic publishing houses that had to have everything in the can by spring. 

    Josh came up to pick up his clothes from the drier. He settled into Mike’s recliner. Yeah! I love having someone else up here.  This is great. We both have something we need, connection with privacy. At first, Elsa settled in his lap.  I sent pictures of it to the trio in California, Damon, Cylin, and August, Elsa’s fan club. 

    Elsa and I followed the usual evening routine before going to be. Goodnight, Elsa.  Goodnight, Mike. I love you.    

Saturday, June 8th, 2019

     Before I started my morning walk with Elsa, I checked the wear pattern on shoes. There is a substantial difference between the left heel and the right. The right heel is worn down right to the back edge of the shoe, the left not as much. To get the heel strike further back on my left foot, I am pushing the right hip back more so the left leg can extend more. I  applied that principle to Bikram, too.
    I dropped off the CDs and some books at the Kona Bookstore, a half-price bookstore in town.  I will pick up what they can't use on Monday or morning next week after yoga. I was given a choice if I wanted to donate the CDs they decided they can't use or have them returned to me.  I wanted them returned.  The lady behind the counter was shocked. I'm not sure why.  I would like to use the profit from these CDs to help pay for the books' packing and shipping costs.  I also have some fantasy of selling these CDs and whatever books are not accepted by one of the seminaries on Amazon.  These shipping costs are going to be impressive.
    I have a lot of money behind me, but I would like to live within my annual income.  I haven't quite figured out what that is, but now, I think my output exceeds my income.  Now, there have been some expenses that are annual and even are due once every three years.
    I went to Costco. As I was wandering up and down the aisles, I thought of buying Nam bread for Mike.  It was the only thing he would ask me to pick up for him when I shopped there.  How many years will those moments come up? Does it ever stop?
    One of the Costco sample stands was serving chicken and portabello mushroom ravioli.  It tasted good and included meat.   I checked the sodium content. I always had to do that when I shopped for Mike.  These reminders are little stabs into my heart.
    I once compared the loss of Mike to withdrawal from a 45-year habit. Perhaps, I can compare these reminders to the triggers recovering drug addicts experience.  When the addict experiences something which reminds him of the addition, it triggers a craving.  I heard a story about a recovery center that was having dismal results with their coke addicts.  It winds up, they ate at a glass top table with white metal legs.  Those legs triggered a reminder of the coke lines. Of course, there are several differences. First, I can't pick up this habit again,  and second, there was nothing destructive about my relationship with Mike; we both grew and improved.  As you can see, all habits are not equal.
    I did some weeding in the back lanai.  When I started weeding back there, I was trimming with cuticle scissors. I was having fun.  Now I discovered that the vines can be thinned by the grab and pull and pull method. I just yank the stuff right out of the ground. No need to just trim it back.  It will grow back fast enough.  I am leaving the weeds on the ground to be dried out. Then I have to sort of the bougainvillea branches, with their wide thorns, and put the rest in the composting containers.
    While listening to The Moth Radio Hour, I started writing down the names and number of volumes of these books I discovered in a notebook instead of in the CollectorZ ap. I'm figuring that these books, which are all about Catholicism and the church, would be desirable.  If I send the list, I can start shipping these.
    I finally emptied out Mike's briefcase, the one I packed rapidly on the night of Jan 25th when we flew to Oahu in the ambulance plane.  I took work along, assuming that Mike would be able to read and continue preparing for the diaconate weekend classes.  He never opened a book. His illness became his life, actually him. It was all-consuming. Sometimes when I remember how he suffered, it hurts. It hurts more now than it did at the time. Or maybe just the same, but there was so much to deal with, and I thought of pain as just bumps, big ones,  on the road to recovery not part of an inevitable descent into death.
    I had told Yvette that the TV stopped working. She must have told Josh because he came up to take a look.  He fixed it. I have no idea what he does, but I have the benefit of an in house techie.  Yeah!  Everything is in order again, but now I know that I can be perfectly happy watching shows on my computer.  I have to anticipate that I will be doing that eventually.  Once the library is emptied of books and furniture, I am thinking I can rent that space.  The problem will be finding someone I am content living with. Every human being requires adjustment. Just thinking about it is starting a migraine,  appropriately, I think.

Friday, June 7, 2019

    I am missing Mike more.  My throat is tightening unbidden, and my heart feels heavy.  I’ve told him, “Enough is enough. Come home already.”  I think I’ve demonstrated my self-sufficiency enough.  I’m good. Time to come home.”  

    Mike and I had a running joke.  When something bad happened to one of us, we would say, “Who gave you permission to get sick?”  for example.  In this case, I say to him,” Who gave you permission to die?” But, of course, I did, not just once, but twice.  It was me that told the doctors to take him off life support.  I was the only one who had the legal authorization to do so.  And then when they removed the life support, and his dying process started, I lay by his side and said, “I, Elizabeth Susan David-Ross, release you from the bonds of marriage.” I wanted him to feel free to die. I was happy that his suffering would stop.  The palliative team and the ICU doctors had both made it clear that he could not survive.  All we could give him is a longer period of suffering.  

    I called the Deceased department of the credit card company.  They told me that I needed a court-ordered document to claim the bonus point. That means I would need to go to probate.  It sounds like poor people who would need that money desperately can never claim their bonus points.

    At Bikram, Heather, the instructor, expressed concern about the way I was positioning my left knee, concerned that I was overextending it, which can lead to a blowout.  I knew that I was leaning too far to the left, but felt that I was getting a good stretch on the outside of my leg that I couldn’t get otherwise and I was supporting my body with the walker, preventing from full weight landing on my left knee.  

    After Bikram, I stopped at the post office to mail Damon the shirt that he left when he was out for the funeral and the composting bags to Shivani. Then off to Safeway to buy some salad. They had Hersey’s Milk Chocolate bars with whole almonds on sale.  Ten, I bought 10.

    When I came home, I heard a sound in the house and thought, “Mike’s home.” Of course, Elsa got some object in place for me to throw or kick for her to chase. It’s good that she’s here, but she’s no substitute for Mike.  I knew this stage was bound to come.  I think I’ve done pretty well up to now.  I can feel my body shifting as I sit with this sadness.  I have to let go of the old me, which was entwined with Mike.  Forty-five years is a long, long time to be together. As I type, I can feel one of my silent migraines coming on. 

    I worked on the blog and drank my morning cup of soup. I planned to work in the garden, cutting the bougainvillea growing down from our lanai to Yvette’s laundry area but got a phone call from Jean. She damaged her foot again while Damon was visiting.  No, it wasn’t Damon’s fault. She twisted her foot on some uneven ground.  While I was speaking to her, I remember that I want to have some chicken for dinner and went to take some out of the freezer while I was still on the phone. I put a Ziploc bag with two chicken breasts in the sink. 

    Rick, of Raymond James, had told me to list the beneficiaries for the IRA. I had to get everyone’s date of birth and social security number.  I know everyone’s month and day of birth, but I needed to check the years. Three of these kids asked me why I wanted their social security number.  I told them so I could assume their identity.  Joke!  In the process of doing this, I wound up informing everyone that they were in my will.  Interestingly enough, most of them had no idea that they would be included.  Dorothy was shocked that I included her kids.  I wasn’t very involved with them when they were growing up even though they lived 1.1 miles away.  Family problems. What can I say? But here’s the thing: Mike and I have the money because of the money we got from my mom. There was money we got directly, and there was money we were able to save because she bought our house for us.  She made our lives much easier. Karin and David are her grandchildren. She would want them to benefit from our good fortune. 

    The student came for her tutoring lesson. I’ve been focusing on math rather than reading.  I can only hope that she continues practicing, preferably reading for pleasure. 

    After she left, I tried to nap but wasn’t able to sleep. I did get some rest.  My mind kept going to the task of trimming the bougainvillea hanging over our wall down to Yvette’s clothesline.  As usual, I lay there thinking, “This is going to be too hard.”  I forced myself to get up and deal with the task. I started by getting the blue plastic barrel into the bedroom from the back lanai, so I could get it out the side door into the driveway.  I grabbed some cutting tools from the orange bucket I keep in the front of the house and a pair of gardening gloves and headed down the driveway to the lower yard.  It took me all of 10 minutes.  Only two large branches were hanging low and then a bunch of shorter ones that were tangled together.  Of more pressing concern is the bowing of the story high rock wall, which holds my back lanai out of their garden area.  Oh, boy!  It’s not too bad at this point, but I think I should have it checked and see if there is anything we can do about it prophylactically.  How do I know about bowing retaining walls?  When we sold our house in Princeton, the inspector identified such a wall in our basement.  I know the look. 

    When I came back to my house, I went out into our back lanai and did a little more weeding.  I have all the weeds laid out on the ground to dry, so there will be no live roots when I throw them into our composter. When I came back inside, I did some more blog work.

    After walking Elsa, I started on dinner.  I buttered and seasoned both of the defrosted chicken breasts with salt and Italian seasoning and put them in the toaster oven. While they were cooking, I ate my salad. The chicken was a little overdone, but definitely eatable. I left the second one in the toaster oven, planning to put it away for tomorrow. When I got up from the table, I saw smoke coming out of the appliance. I pulled the plug but too late for that chicken breast.  I don’t know how to operate this thing.

       I watched, listened to,  my TV show on my computer as I cataloged the books. I’m still watching Silent Witness. The tone of this show had changed dramatically over the sessions.  The first 7 seasons of the show were placid and less varied than Murder she Wrote, and it has become progressively edgier.  

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Musings:  I’m putting this separately so those who are not interested can choose not to read it.

    The image of a small Persian rug I once had came to mind. I lost it when the commune moved from one house to another.  Some furniture was left in the driveway.  Someone put my rug on top of the furniture to protect it from the rain. The next morning it was gone. Someone saw it and thought it would look nice in their home. I still feel sad about that loss. How can I feel that sadness after over forty years and not feel sadder about my loss of Mike?  

    It made me think of the difference.  The rug is a noun; my relationship with Mike was all verbs.  I haven’t lost my identity. I haven’t lost my home.  I haven’t lost much of my daily activity. I haven’t lost friends; if anything, I am relating to more people. Members of the family are calling me regularly, not just to check on me, but they have a commitment to call regularly. While I have lost something, there are also things I have gained.

    What I have lost is daily doses of love and laughter. Ah, those are nouns, but they can also be verbs: loving and laughing.  I don’t know which of those two losses is worst. The love part was me being reminded daily that I was a loving person, and that I was loved, not to mention the sheer joy of expressing love.  The laughing part was me being reminded me daily that I was a funny person.  Being funny is not just important for the value of the audience response, it is also important because it reminds me not to take life seriously.  My humor leans heavily toward absurdity.  When I think of it, the human condition is a hoot.  We are so filled with self-importance and such minor characters on the stage of the planet. – except for our outstanding capacity for destroying life for every living thing.      

   

Thursday, June 6, 2019

    The alarm went off at 6:30am, but I did not. I didn't budge. I fell asleep again before the alarm automatically shut off.  I woke up again shortly before 7, went to the bathroom, and headed back to bed.  I finally got up around 7:30.  First things first, I walked Elsa.  I still felt tired. I worked on walking in a relaxed way, using the minimal amount of energy I needed to walk instead of thinking of pushing myself. The physical execution wasn't difficult, just the way I felt about it. Because I wasn't doing Bikram, I walked all the way around the block instead of only to the end and back. I took a brown paper bag with me to pick up trash. There wasn't much of that, but I found two unidentified piles of poop to pick up.  Elsa and I came across a dog on the loose.  She and Elsa had no trouble with each other.

    I do want to sleep more than usual.  I can think of several reasons this might be true. Someone suggested depression. I am definitely not clinically depressed.  I am adjusting to a new reality. That alone takes tons of energy. I am making some radical changes to my body.  While changing my left foot's alignment doesn't sound like much, it affects every bone and muscle in my body. It's another huge change. The last possibility is something I can do something about.  I wonder if I'm getting enough protein in my diet.  I get protein in the Juice Plus smoothie.  I put a large number of pumpkin seeds in my salad; that's a protein source.  There is some protein in everything I eat, but I haven't been getting meat.  I am going to have to eat the other kale and mozzarella patty I defrosted, but tomorrow night I am determined to defrost and cook some meat.  I have a toaster oven on the counter, but I haven't turned it on yet.   In my conversations with Mike, he gives me hell about the way I eat.  I assure him I'm fine. He's not convinced. (For those who wonder: Do I really believe Mike is talking to me?  Yes and no. More importantly, as far as I'm concerned, the reality of his presence is irrelevant. If it helps and does no harm, I'm good with it.) 

    When I came home, I dumped the brown paper bag with the poop in the trash can. I thought of the paint cans I had set out about  6 months ago to dry out so I could toss them.  I keep forgetting about them. I want to drop one can in the trash each week for pick up. I got one of the cans and dropped it at the bottom of the trash container.

    I did my oil rinse, washed the dishes, made my two-days’ worth of Juice Plus smoothies, and drank my two cups of water and pretzels while I worked on the blog. My cell phone rang, and my first thought was, "It must be Mike." I wonder how long that will be going on.  When I forced myself to think that he is really permanently gone from my physical life, my heart feels heavy. Fortunately, I don't focus on that too much.  I have a life to live. Throwing myself on the funeral pyre is not for me.  I also know that I will have to deal with this sadness. There's nothing wrong with doing it slowly and piecemeal.  When it hits, I don't run away from it.  I sit with it. It's weird, but when I do focus on the feeling of my sadness for his absence, rather than feeling sadder, I feel Mike's presence in every cell of my body.  

    After I had my breakfast soup, I went down to the bottom of the property to pick limes. When I stepped outside, it was clear there had been a downpour. I missed this one. Knowing that I would get dripped on as I ducked under the lime tree to pick the limes up off the ground, I went anyway.  I came back up with 9 (nine) limes. When I went down last week with Sidney, I picked up 32.  Some change. It looks like it's the end of the growing season. When I looked in the tree, I could see several baby limes coming up. They're so green they're hard to see against the leaves, but they're there. It's not a lot, and it will be a while before they are ripe enough to pick for juice.  Also, there are no flowers on the tree.  It may not be the dead-end of the season, but close.  I will have to buy lemons at Costco on my next trip to fill in the gap between the growing seasons. They carry limes, but they are all green. The green ones look great and are suitable for slicing but not for juicing.  You have to wait till they turn yellow for that.

    I got a phone call from Pat, who's the CEO of Habitat, asking to meet me for lunch with Isobel.  I know this is a courtesy to Mike, but I'll take it.  Who knows, I may make new friends out of this.  Of course, maybe they will ask me to take a role with Habitat to do something to make up for Mike's loss.  I doubt that. I'm nowhere near being able to offer what Mike provided in his role for Habitat. 

    When I called my lawyer yesterday to help find the estate distribution among our inheritors so I could apply it to the IRA, she told me that it was listed in the Trust document.  I couldn't find it in the Portfolio, but I remembered the distribution. I made a slight adjustment dropping one of the inheritors from the IRA while leaving her in to inherit money from the Trust.   Another piece in place. I wonder how long all these adjustments will go on. I know it will be at least another 4 months before we can close out the old accounts outside the Trust.

    My computer had been acting weird.  I called my Microsoft support service. They took over my computer and made it all good. I'm sure my grandson, August, can do the job too. 

    On an NPR show, there was a discussion on Orwell. I was particularly interested in his thinking about language. He believed that thought can be controlled through language.  This is tricky. I'm sitting here thinking about it. I believe language can control thought if the thinker is already inclined to think that way.  The correlation between language and what people experience has to be functional and have some bearing on reality.  If you're dealing with a highly structured collective culture, a common language supporting common beliefs is functional or at least can be. Then some individuals adopting the 'fake' language a good option because it helps them in some way.  My mom, for her own neurotic reasons, tried to control perception through language. How's that different? It really didn't work. I recently heard a survey of North Koreans reveal they don't believe the BS that is being shoved down their throats. Does that mean that no one does? Probably not.

    I sat down and went through all the credit cards.  I got distracted by the funeral and was dreading going back to this chore.  It winds up I had it fairly well organized to start out with and had no problem figuring out what I had left to do. There is a special department to deal with the accounts of the deceased, and no, it's not open 24/7.  I got the contact numbers for these departments and the times of operation.

    Dorothy called.  She is committed to calling every Thursday.  I deeply appreciate it. I'm trying to get family members to commit to a day to call. Damon has Sundays.  I spoke to Karin about it. She said she would try; I'm not optimistic. She's not used to thinking of talking to me regularly.

    I was going to wash the floor, but there was a kettle full of water I had heated earlier.  I reheated it and went outside and did some of the weedings. I was planning to do some on the back lanai. Then, I sat down and did some more work on the blog.   I finally washed the kitchen floor.  The vacuum cleaner has been sitting there for most of the week, reminding me what I had to do.  Washing the floor using the Rainbow vacuum cleaner to suck up the water takes all of 15 minutes, and it looks so much better. Why would I see it as a giant task and resist doing it?

    I have made a new discovery; I have discovered that I love sweeping with a broom. Now, this broom doesn't have those stiff bristles I remember as a child.  The bristles are flexible and a delight to use. I sweep the dirt out of the kitchen, down the hall, and out the side door. I sweep the pebbles off the tiles on the black lanai. I sweep my bedroom and bathroom, and the dirt gets whisked out the shower door, which goes right out to the back lanai.    Mike would have loved this development.

    Mike and I designed our bathroom.  The original one was much smaller. We knocked out a large closet to enlarge the bathroom.  We designed the room with our old age in mind.  The shower has universal access.  That means there is no lip at the edge of the shower pan, so you can slide a wheelchair right into the shower. There's no door between the bathroom and the bedroom. Mike and I were good with that.  The doorway is wide, also taking a wheelchair into consideration. Best of all, the outside wall was knocked out and replaced with an all glass, clear glass,  door leading right out to the back lanai. Most of our guests just love using our shower, but some are concerned about being seen.  No one can see.  I will go out to hang up my laundry on the line in my altogether, and no one can see me.  All sightlines are blocked one way or another. 

    I loaded about 80 CDs in the car for drop off on Saturday at the half-price bookstore. Then I walked Elsa before it started to pour.

    When I got back, I took a late afternoon shower, did MELT for my feet and hands, had dinner of a large salad, 3 small buttered slices of multi-grain baguette, limeade, and my pills. I'm sticking to my habit of eating on the screened-in lanai and reading while eating.

    I did some more work on the blog before watching TV in the library and cataloging more books.  Cataloging them feels pretty good. I am not looking forward to emptying out that room.  The books are so Mike.  When we moved from Ohio, I tried to talk him out of talking his three thousand books, but he insisted. He said the two things that had to go with him: me and his books.  

    I walked Elsa at the end of the evening. She turned around early again.  Huh? When we got home, I  washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. Good night, Elsa, Goodnight, Mike.

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Musings:  I’m putting this separately so those who are not interested can choose not to read it.

    Heather, the Monday through Friday mornings Bikram instructor, said. "No matter who you are, no matter how broken, this process will help you." 

    The idea is that everyone can change and improve. But is that true?  I am sure that some are too afraid to go through the process of change.  I think all change involves learning more about ourselves, challenging ourselves.  When I encouraged Mike to change his posture, he would make an effort and make some sarcastic comments about how comfortable he felt.  No, change doesn't feel comfortable. Why are some willing to experience that discomfort and others not?  

    I know that the dance training I had in my twenties taught me there was a difference between 'good' pain and 'bad' pain. 'Good' pain signals a possible change, bringing me closer to achieving a goal. The body feels something unfamiliar but associates it with something good. 'Bad' pain signals some damage to the body, which will not lead to healing.  Does having this knowledge help? I don't know, but I have always been curious about the human psyche.  My curiosity about my own was because I was a readily available lab animal to examine. I had me to look at 24/7.  How neat is that? 

    I think healing always means accepting responsibility for our personal condition. That's the premise in all healing. Somehow we have to make changes in ourselves. We can have someone else make those changes through medical procedures, but that doesn't apply to psychological and spiritual changes.  For me, achieving physical change through chemistry or surgery is always a last resort.  I see many people use that as the first choice.  

    More confusing for me is people who want the world to change around them to make them happy.  Not that a change in the outside world is irrelevant.  Living in a Nazi concentration camp was an external circumstance that most people could not find a healing way to cope with.  I have no idea how I would have done, or possibility, giving the current political climate, I may have to do before the end of my life.  Victor Frankel demonstrated that inner healing can have a significant bearing on the outcome of even dire circumstances like that.  Do I think that change should all be internal and never external? No. It's just I have developed that pathway for myself and can guide others effectively using this approach.  

     I think it is equally vital that some work to change external conditions. Mike's first wife, my hanai sister, has spent 15 years working on prison reform. Do I think that should be done? Absolutely. But that's not what I'm called to do. That's not what I see as my channel for making a contribution to making this world a better place.