Friday, July 5, 2019

  On the way home from Bikram, I stopped off at the vet to pick up food and meds for the girl. I had plans of washing Elsa and doing some garden work. I worked on the blog; I got out three days and then had to nap.  

    Kathrin said a friend of hers wanted to come over and harvest my coconut tree.  This was great. It costs an average of $100 a year to have these babies cut down. The one remaining coconut tree was generally ignored; it is not centrally located on the property, but it is still a danger to the dogs and the gardeners.  Those things are lethal when they come down. Kathrin took pictures of the tree and sent them to her friend.  Yep! It will serve his purposes well.

    When he got here, I contacted Yvette and Josh to warn them what was going on. They put their dogs inside of their protection.  Traditionally, men climbed the coconut trees with nothing more than their arms and legs and a strap.  Today, especially for anyone over 30, a tree climber is used.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aujhbsoOpWQ I included this video because you have to see this. The guy got 32 coconuts from one tree. 

    He usually has to drive to the other side of the island to get his coconuts. I called several neighbors to see if they also had coconut trees they would be willing to have him harvest for free. If he does this for all the trees in the neighborhood, we’ll get the work done for free, and he won’t have to travel to the other side of the island to get what he needs.  I was only able to text of three families at that time. We checked out two of them.  The family next door has several, but one was bad.  The other neighbor has a tree that isn’t good anymore, either.

    Kathrin’s friend also checked out my failing plumeria tree. One limb has given up and is lying down on the ground and then growing back up again.  Yvette through it was going bad. We had problems with rotting plumeria trees before.  But he said no, That wasn’t the problem. He said the weight of the limb on a downhill side was simply too much for the tree to support.  He found a tree branch and used it as a crutch for the failing limb.  He said this way, the tree limb can strengthen and support itself.  He told me that I would have to continue supporting the limb, maybe forever, maybe not. Her friend also loaded our recycling into the van.  I took it down to the transfer station. 

    As I worked in the library cataloging Mike’s books, it rained on and off. Around 9:30, when it was somewhat lighter, I grabbed the opportunity and took Elsa for a walk.  No way. She got to the edge of the driveway and headed back to the house.  She’s a Princess Never Get Wet like her mom.  She immediately went to the door to the back yard.  She had to pee, but I guess she figured it wouldn’t be raining back there.  She didn’t like what she found.  She usually pees out there on the gravel just beyond the tiled area, which is under the overhang.  I didn’t watch, but I think she finally gave up and peed on the tile, although it was not her preference.

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

Unfortunately, so many people think they accomplish good by declaring themselves good.   I spoke with my therapist today about the phenomena of people who think they haven’t hurt others simply because they didn’t intend to.  She said she sees it, particularly among step-mothers. We didn’t discuss this at length, but I assume that these women ignore how difficult the situation is for their step-children and only focus on the problems the children are causing for them.

    When I first met Mike, I had a friend who said, “Make sure he gets rid of that kid.,” meaning Damon, who was a small child at the time. She didn’t mean he should kill him, but as far as she was concerned, the presence of that child would ruin our lives.  I can see that she might think that from what she had observed in the second marriages of some of her friends.   

    I would never, and I mean never, have stayed with a man who abandoned his child. And I mean never.  While Damon did give me grief, ignoring me, and even avoiding conversations with me, I was deeply committed to him.  Periodically, I would breakdown and weep. Mike would call Jean, Damon’s mom, and she would encourage him to treat me somewhat better. I saw he was in a difficult situation, conflicted by his loyalty to his mom and what I knew was he love for me.  I felt sorry for him.  I also loved him right from the beginning.  I still love him. I committed that child through my commitment to Mike.  I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

    My commitment was made easy. All the adults in Damon’s life were civilized people.  I don’t mean there were no problematic moments and no acting out, but we were all able to remain civil. We all worked together to create a unified family for Damon.

    What do I have now?  I have Damon, who is there for me now that his dad is dead.  He loves me.  I also have another sister, Jean, Damon’s mother. We love each other.  My life is so much richer for my commitment.  I made my contribution to this outcome, but I could never have done it alone.  

Thursday, July 4, 2019

    First July 4 without Mike. Feel a little sad.  What I miss the most is his loving him and being loved by him.  I was so comfortable with him, so completely myself.  Knowing I could trust him enabled me to expand my trust to others.  I am so much better off for having been his partner for 45 years.
    I slept through the whole second half of Bikram, lovely deep relaxing sleep. When I get new movement in my hip and back, it limits how much more I can do that day.  I have to give my body time to consider the changes and decide how it wants to respond.  It needs time to learn. Because Scott is in class, and I know that he can peel me up off the floor when I can’t get up on my own, I can relax completely. What a luxury!  Sometimes I’m so relaxed I can’t imagine ever getting my muscles into action again.
    When I got home, I suggested a garlic rinse to Katrin to help with the infected wounds on her legs. Also,  Sandor came over today. He worked on scanning all the letters mom had saved. Most are in German, but I’m pretty sure they are all letters responding to the news of my birth. He set up the blog too. He said before we broadcast it, he wanted to make some refinements.  He was lovely company. I got tired and took a nap while he finished up working on the blog.
    Sandor took one of the hard copies of Mike’s book on the diaconate. He had been reading it slowly to savor it.  I asked him directly about the quality of the book.  I told him I found it repetitious and overwritten. Sandor said yes, but this how all theology books sound. Ow!  How counterproductive. I also showed him Mike’s book on the Foundations of Theology, the one I knew he was writing. He took that home to scan it.  He said this has to be published too.
    Sandor is planning on taking all four of Mike’s four-drawer file cabinets home with him. This is great. The less Mike’s precious collection goes into the trash, the happier both Mike and I will be, him because it’s his precious collection, and me because it is his precious collection and I hate to add to the trash collection. After I’m through cataloging the books, I will have to clear off the papers on top of the cabinets. Then Sandor will move them out one drawer at a time.
    The night concluded with all the usual routines.  I’m almost finished entering the books into the catalog.  I must have under 200 left to go.
    I stopped watching Silent Witness. Many moons ago, I commented on how predictable and steady the show was.  I considered not watching it anymore, but then the format changed.  The original lead actress dropped out, and the plots became edgier.  However, they have become too edgy now. I’m having nightmares. Not my idea of entertainment.  For anyone interested, the show is on Amazon and that 23 (twenty-three ) seasons.  I’ve switched to watching Vanity Fair, also on Amazon.  Much more to my taste.

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Musings:  I’m putting this separately so those who are not interested can choose not to read it.
    Mike’s parents were card-carrying Communists.  One of my Republican friends asked me recently how they could have aligned themselves with that political point of view. I said because they were concerned for the welfare of the marginalized in our society.  They were concerned about the unequal allocation of wealth and power in society that made workers into helpless victims of their employers.  While I agree with their concern, we know now that their allegiance was horribly misplaced.
    We know now the Soviet Union turn into a brutal dictatorship, killing millions of people who didn’t give their whole-hearted support to the party.  We also know that the former ‘proletariat’ turned into the same monster as their predecessors once they had power.
    There were two serious miscalculations.  First, beware of enforcing a utopian vision. I believe it is considered a sin in Catholicism to pursue a utopian ideal.  Christianity, at least, reserves the utopian vision for God’s domain, something not possible while on the Earth.  Simple wisdom.  I can think of many stories where utopian ideals have gone sour, but I know of none where they have worked.
    I wonder if the Shaker communities are a counterexample, but these communities were based on equality of all individuals and were able to maintain that ideal – it seems.  Again, I have never read about them in detail. Their sect came to an end because celibacy was one of the demands of the community. No sex; no children. No children; no one to carry on the tradition.
    The second miscalculation was Marx’s vision of the human condition.  All those who supported the Communist ideal believed that when the oppressed gained power, they would be compassionate, a severe miscalculation.  It assumes that people who were once victims can never become villains, abusers.  Boy, did Marx get that one wrong!  He knew nothing about the humans who, once given the power to design and run the utopian ideal, turned it into a living hell.  So much for utopia. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.  Does anyone know a case where that is not true?
 
 
 

Tuesday, July 2, 2019

    Wow! I forgot to make any notes for Monday. I am relaxing. I’ll make entries when I can.  I will include several days in one entry. Also, I’m getting feedback. “I no longer read the details of your daily routine.” “I skip the details of what you do in Bikram.” “ I look forward to your ‘musings.’”  I respond to feedback.
    Today, Bikram, as usual. I have been working on bending my left knee while walking. I’m trying to get more flexibility in the joints of my left leg, ankle, knee, and hip.
    While I was pulling out of the parking lot at Bikram, Judy called to tell me that Luke had an unusually long seizure and was taken to the hospital.  Luke is about 1 ½  and suffers from a rare genetic mutation called the Fox G1.  There are only 300 people in the world who have been identified as having this problem.  It is one of the most serious disabilities I’m aware of.  The white matter in his brain didn’t develop normally. He will never walk, talk, or even think. While he can see, it is questionable that he can form a concept of what he is seeing.  He does seem to respond to music, mainly Mozart, but so do plants.  He is a lovely, sweet child.
    FoxG1 children suffer from seizures. Luke’s so far have only occurred once or twice a month and lasted for 30 seconds. This one went on for 30 minutes; his parents called the EMTs.  He was rushed to the local hospital.    Even pediatric neurologists are shooting in the dark when it comes to treating these children.  The EMT workers were familiar with seizures and gave Luke something to knock him out to stop it. Arrangements were made to fly him and his mom to Oahu, where there were specialists. Medical emergencies are flown over either in a helicopter or a Cessna.  Mike and I were on a Cessna; Luke and Jazzy were on one too. His father and four-year-old brother flew over that afternoon on a regular commercial flight.  Because the major medical facilities are all on Oahu, being flown over is common.
    The sedative helped Luke with the seizure.  They kept him overnight, but this may be the new normal for Adam and Jazzy.  No one knows what to expect with these children. They do know that there is a limited life expectancy. I know they will be sad when he does die.  Adam and Jazzy are doing an amazing job facing this together, helping each other out.  I can only hope that remembering their behavior with each other and the love they gave Luke while he was with them will comfort them way my five weeks with Mike provides me with comfort.  Of course, Mike was a 78-year-old man, and Luke isn’t even two now.
     I learned the correct spelling of Katrin’s name when she witnessed my signature on the LSW change of beneficiary form. She put in the mailbox and commented that if you want to mail a letter in Switzerland, you have to drop it off in a mailbox or the post office.  Now that’s true here too in most places. I don’t know where she lives in Switzerland, but I would imagine that rural areas have the same drop-off/pick up arrangement we do.
    Kathrin replanted the two plants that Mike bought around Christmas time to decorate the house.  One plant looked bad before she did anything with it. Both look bad now because she forgot to water it after the transplant.
    Katrin and I went down to the bottom of the property to pick some limes she needed. The tree doesn’t have a single large yellow one and has dozens of little green ones. It’s like the tree is starting a whole new crop, except there are no flowers promising additional ones after this batch.
    Katrin also picked the one ripe mango that was accessible.  I was screaming at her not to put her nose up against the stem to smell it.  Mango sap has the same chemical as poison ivy and the same effect on the human body. Kathrin said she’s not allergic. I hope she washed the fruit thoroughly because I am- terribly.
    I went out in the upper backyard and continued ripping out that overgrown vine on the fence.  Very rewarding clearing all that out.  I grabbed hold of a vine, pulled and pulled, and got six feet of foliage ripped out.  Ah!
    I took my shower afterward, did MELT, and read some more of Mike’s book. I am finding it very dull to read. Too pedantic. Too repetitious.  If no publishing house accepts it, I’m going to work on rewriting it.  I’ll have to work with someone who knows the material better than I do, but I think I can do a decent job. Mike said I was a good writer.  This is one of the many ways that I improved because of Mike’s influence.  He made me a better writer.  If I reworked his book, I’d just be rewording what he already wrote.
    Kathrin made me a salad before I had breakfast. Every time she prepares something for me, I can feel Mike being joyful, exuberantly so.  He fought for his life because of me.  He gave up only when he believed I would be okay.  No matter how much he fought, his body no longer had the ammunition to win that fight. But it was sweet of him to try. Talk about self-sacrifice.  He was in agony.  But then it all came together: Damon’s willingness to let him go, mine and finally Mike’s letting me know that he was ready.  When we met with the palliative team, we agreed to wait two weeks after we thought the end was near. I  pulled the plug after one.
    While I had my usual salad, bread, and lemonade for dinner, Kathrin also prepared some food. She made some vegetarian patties that were in the freezer.  Again, I could feel Mike’s joy. I loved the way he cared about me. Even though it was a little bit much at times;  he assumed he always had to protect me.  Anyone who has met me is quite sure I can take care of myself.  While Mike was protective, he never limited me. He also loved my courage and zaniness. I had a mate who not only loved me but liked me as well.  I was so proud of him too.  What a wonderful human being. Perfect? No, but made every effort to be better. That was good enough for me.  

Sunday, June 30, 2019

     I am so tired. This all started on Thursday when Vicki announced that it was the 18 month anniversary of her husband's death over lunch. Boy, that hit me like a ton of bricks.  I think I have finally woken up to the inevitable conclusion that I will not see Mike again, and it's exhausting.  Vicki worked off her grief by walking 6 miles a day for a year.  Me, it looks I'm going to sleep and sleep and sleep.  I was too tired to stand during church today.  There is such heaviness inside of me, carrying an extra load around my heart. I'm not thinking of Mike or missing him; it's all in my body-brain.  Boy is that part of me putting up a stink.

    I came home from church and slept for another 2 hours and woke up still tired.  Damon had called on Friday.  I should have called back, but I didn't have the energy.  Shivani called on Friday. It was a lovely conversation, but I was tired.
    Despite tiredness, I did my Sunday walk around the block with Elsa.  I made a point of going our usual way; that way, I go down the steepest hill instead of up it.  I try not to fight the way I feel but go with it and still walk.  How long is this going to last?  I don't want to do much of anything except sleep.
    Lovely long talk with Damon. Among other things, we talked about doing some remodeling oh his home. The upstairs has three bedrooms and one bathroom. Two of the bedrooms are reasonably sized, by today's definition, and one is small.  Damon is talking about putting in a master bathroom.  I suggested that he put the bathroom over the garage facing the street and a good-sized master bedroom between his existing bedroom at the back of the house and the bathroom. That way, the bedroom wouldn't be facing the street, and they would have a great view from their bedroom.  This conversation generated an idea for some renovations I'm planning.
    Once Mike's library is cleared out, I'm thinking of making it another bedroom with an attached bath.  There is a small area off the main room where Mike put his four file cabinets of notes. It's not huge; it's big enough is for a sink and a toilet.  Then it occurred to me that I could break through the outside wall and project a shower area out into the back yard.  It would be within the required boundaries because it wouldn't go beyond the edge of the roof overhang.  I could put a skylight into the shower and even a door leading to the outside.  I have a door to the backyard in my master shower now.  If I wanted to rent that area, someone could have access to the yard without going through my bedroom and bathroom.  I love the idea.
    Kathrine took me to dinner with the Krishnas. A couple, Manuel and Bernice, hosted.  These folks converted when they were kids at Berkley.  I remember the Krishnas singing on the streets of NYC in the 70s. They were weird. Now, these same folks are middle-aged and older.  From this perspective, their conversions look very different.
    The hosts are professional musicians.  They produce a whole different order of music than what I experienced on Oahu when I stayed at the temple there, where the music and dancing was more volume and enthusiasm than musicality.  It was clear that for these folks, their artistry was a form of meaningful worship.  It was easier for me to relate to the chanting in its more subdued version.
    The meal was fantastic. Afterward, there was more chanting, a period of silent meditation, and a short reading from the Badagavita accompanied by an explication. It was a great experience.
    When I came home, I didn't watch TV or catalog books.  I did some work on the blog and went to bed.

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

    I was catching up with last week's Sunday Times and came across an article on morality, what it means to be good. Well, that expanded my  thinking.  There was a reference to Peter Singer's "extreme demand that we sacrifice our deepest personal commitments to help starving people on the other side of the planet…" Hmm! At some level I agree with this, but . .  . I'm quite clear that I am in no way prepared to do this.  How do I navigate between the extreme deprivation of some of the people on the planet with the luxury I'm living in?  Talk about a narrow way. Am I aware of this disparity?  Was I raised to believe that I am involved with every human being on the planet, add in every plant and animal?  Yes.  Do I feel the weight of this burden? Yes. Enough to force me to sacrifice my life? No.  Do I worry about this?  Yes, but not often enough or deeply enough for me to make a difference. I make my annual contribution to those in need.  That does something to absolve me, but not much.
I live in a three-bedroom house, alone now. Hawaii has the largest homeless population in the country. Am I prepared to let a family of 7 move in with me? Move-in while I move out to more appropriate quarters for a lone woman?  No, on both counts.  I love my home. I love the way I live. I have a wonderful house.  Do I have any idea how to reconcile my commitments to me and to those who suffer in this world? No.  Does it weigh on me? Yes. Does that do anyone any good? I seriously doubt it.  I enjoy what I have more than I obsess about what others don't have. However, I still believe that my life is affected by others' suffering, even if they are on the other side of the planet.

Saturday, June 29, 2019

     The other day I did some work in the front yard on the area under the Blue Silver Palm.  I put down some rocks to create a border under the three.  The area had been initially bordered by small palm stumps, creating a look a tiny military post in the day of the wild west in America, and covered with gravel. The old gravel had been washed away, leaving the ground bare. I had tried Home Depot the other day. They only had river rocks. Today I went to Farm and Garden; they too only had river rocks.  Rock is all we have here.  Everywhere you step, there is rock. If it's covered by lawn or cement, the rock is no far beneath.  

    Mike and I were on a guided excursion on Kauai. Mike spotted a brown rock. He asked the guide where the rock came from. The guide said it was lava without turning around. Mike asked him to look. The guide said, "I don't have to. Every rock on this island is lava. The difference is the mineral content." Who would have thought it would be so hard to find black or brown gravel on this island.

    When I got home, I finally planted the hearts and flowers that Margo gave me the other day, putting down some of the soil amendment. While I was down there, I went to check on the lime tree. There were no ripe ones, but the tree was filled with these little green ones.  I have no idea what phase the tree is in. 

    I walked along the rock wall at the edge of the lower driveway. I saw plants growing out of the wall.  I needed to come down and kill those plants before they loosened the rocks and destroyed the wall.  If that wall goes, it will completely block the driveway.         

    My niece, Shivani, called.  Sidney, her two-year-old son, is the main event. He's into bubbles and cars. He definitely remembers me and Elsa.

    I was tired all day. I  felt like I was dragging myself around. I slept a lot.  Think it has something to do with Vicki's announcement that Thursday was the 18 month anniversary of her husband's death. Wow! This will come to me too.  I think it's getting through to me that I won't be seeing Mike for a long, long, long time. 

Friday, June 28, 2019

    Thank God for Bikram.  It provides me with so much.  It is a community. I know the names of many students in the class and enjoy a loose social connection with them.  Then I can follow my instincts without any stress during the class. I stick to the basic idea of each asana, it’s just that I work to make small changes instead of going full bore.  Also, this studio allows me to use a walker as support. And finally, focusing on the minute details of my own body is a form of meditation that helps me center.  Otherwise, I think I would be overwhelmed with my loss of Mike.

    I have had the ideal circumstances for sustaining myself with this loss.  I couldn’t be luckier. When he was alive, I maintained some sense of independence without sacrificing intimacy. And then, Mike has helped me to grow as a person and become stronger, more self-confident.. He loved it when he saw me become better at something.  He never tried to suppress me in any way. Well, does that mean he was a perfect angel? Of course, not. As I told my niece, if 70% of a marriage is good, that is an ideal marriage; well, as good as it gets while we’re still in human form. 

    I have financial security. Well, as secure as anyone can be today.  When my security goes, it will be the end of life as we know it for all of us. It will mean a crash of the economy, leaving us competing with Venezuela for total devastation or being at war.  We, out here in Hawaii, maybe hit sooner than others, but no one will be far behind.  It will have nothing to do with the loss of my dear husband. 

    Living in Hawaii is an unbelievable blessing.  It isn’t called the Aloha state for no reason.  People really are friendlier.  If he had died while I was in Ohio, I would have had no one who would reach out to me regularly; I would not have had community the way I do here.

    Also, my home, my lovely home. My main living area is a screened-in porch with a view of the Pacific Ocean about 3 miles away as the crow flies.  I’m not in a house coffin, closed in from the outside world, from nature.  

    My goddaughter, Yvette, and her husband live downstairs.  She has been committed to caring for Mike and me in our old age since she was 15.  Her commitment has never wavered.  I have made some friends here that are invaluable to me.  Most of these folks come to me through the church and through Mike. They have remained my friends even though Mike is no longer around.

    Family members and friends have upped their commitment to me. Four are calling me weekly.  Miraculously, our relationships are becoming richer with more contact.  It could have gone any of several ways, better is not guaranteed.

    I had five weeks with Mike in the hospital before he died, where I was able to tell him over and over and over and over how much I loved him and just be there for him. The memory of those five weeks is bittersweet. I don’t have to deal with a home where he lay sick for a year or more and then – bam! Nothing. Emptiness. 

    I still have to deal with emptiness, but mine is not cataclysmic. It’s subtle and hard to grasp.  I’m a strong independent person; I’m good on my own.  I don’t miss Mike’s strength or knowledge.  I miss his presence, his constant presence in every moment of my life, whether he was near me or not.  I am trying to put into words how I feel this loss, this difference. It’s like there’s a layer of air that always used to cloak me, which is thinning out and will be gone someday.  

    I think everyone feels that difference when they lose a long term relationship. In some cases, it is probably a blessing. When you have a partner who gives you more criticism than kindness and more contempt than love, what a relief it must be to rid yourself of that cloak. But Mike was a place of complete safety for me. Again, does that mean that he never criticized and never got frustrated with me? No, course not.  He was human, and so was I.  It just means that he always intended kindness, even when he failed. And, he succeeded more than he failed. I feel that I may have lost the cloak he provided me with, but I have changed and become more comfortable within myself for having had the opportunity to wear it for the last 45 years. 

    What I miss most about Mike is his love for me.  When he smiled at me, he just radiated with love.  I felt the same way about him. Yes, it is that smile I miss the most, and his hugs and kisses.  His kiss was definitely on my list as one of the best things in life.

    I went to the farewell dinner for one of the priests who is being reassigned. Lovely Hispanic man, much loved by the parish.  I was surprised that there weren’t more Hispanics at the dinner. I was expecting it to be jammed.  But I would say it was half haoles, like me, and half Hispanics. The food was delicious. The company was good.  I felt Mike with me, delighted that I had gone.  Not just because it was good for me, but he was glad I was supporting Fr. Diego and the church. 

    Another night when my dress didn’t slip off my left shoulder.  This is amazing. This is after a lifetime of battling this problem. Bam! Gone! Just one simple exercise.  Of course not.  It is one simple exercise after years and years of working on straightening out my spine. It is a case of the six-year-old who opens the jar after all the adults have had a try.    

Thursday, June 27, 2019

     When I came home after Bikram, I had plans to garden. Fortunately, I set the alarm for 11 to remind me of my luncheon date with the girls. Of course, I had forgotten and made other plans to be at home and write, read, and garden. I'm impossible when it comes to deviating from my domestic routine.  Love being at home.    I sent out two blog entries and worked on a third while I drank my morning soup. 

     I did get some garden work done.  I finally emptied a Home Depot pail filled with rocks that have been sitting in the front yard, waiting for me to use them to create an edge for the last six months.  I was going just to empty the pail but started laying the rocks out.  I thought it was going to be a big deal; I was going to have to dig an edge before laying the stones.  There may have been a ledge there initially, but laying them out on the ground as it was just fine.  I picked up a few small ground cover stones to see if I could get a match at Home Depot.

    When the alarm went off, I showered to get ready for my lunch date. We were to meet at the 12-noon.  Vicki Farley was at mass too. Zola, Jacquie, Vicki, and I all walked out together.  Zola asked Vicki if she would like to join us.  There was no discussion about where to eat, Zola and Vicki walked ahead, and Jacquie and I trailed behind at a distance, keeping an eye on them. We figured out they were heading for the Kona Inn.  The Inn dining room is open-air, as are many restaurants in Hawaii. We were given a table by the rail overlooking a green lawn edged by the Pacific Ocean.   

    I ordered a plain hamburger.  I got some meat in me.  I was wondering if I would be able to eat the whole thing. I had no trouble.  Both Zola and Jacquie ordered hamburgers, too. Vicki went with a tuna melt and fries.  I copped a few of those fries, but less than I usually would.  It was an excellent opportunity to get to know these ladies better, particularly Jacquie.  The plan was for each of us to pay for our own meals. Zola grabbed the check, despite our protests, and the rest of us paid the tip. She promised she wouldn't do that again.

    I was tired and anxious to get home.  I got home around 2:30 pm; I went down for a nap

and woke up again tired at 6 pm, still feeling tired. That's not normal for me.  I couldn't figure out why I was so knocked out.  As I walked Elsa, I allowed my mind to wander.  What came to mind was Vicki's comment that today was the 18-month anniversary of her husband's death. I think somewhere in my nonconscious mind, it registered that Mike would not be coming home- ever; I would be facing an 18-month anniversary. 

    I knew Vicki's husband had died relatively recently. They had been together for 23 years. She processed and continues processing her grief by walking, miles and miles and miles and miles every day.  I  exercise daily, walking, and doing Bikram 6 days a week, but sleeping is my favorite way of dealing with the weight of my grief.

    I have been experiencing more personal grief.  When Mike first died, my grief was for all those he touched and was still touching because he had so much to offer.  My other grief was for Mike because he loved his life here in Hawaii and wouldn't be able to continue enjoying it. What a loss!  But, now there is my third grief; it's for my loss.  Mike loved me so much.  He told me he loved me and that I was beautiful every day. He radiated his love for me. And, he allowed me to love him back in the same way. He loved that I was a loving, affectionate person.

    I came across a line in Brooks's book The Second Mountain about how Frankel achieved his high state of mind in the concentration camp.  Frankel focused on sending love to his wife.  The more he thought of telling her he loved her, of sending her love, the more peaceful he became. He realized that he controlled his own mental state regardless of his circumstances. 

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Musings

    Brooks spent a lot of time talking about the qualities that make for a good marriage. Respecting the other's point of view and the ability to talk things out. Reading his description made me sad because that's what Mike and I had. 

    I differ from Brooks when he says that you always put your partner before yourself.  I think you should see yourself and your partner as equals, where both sets of needs have to be taken into consideration. Making it your job to put your partner's needs before your own does not sound right to me.

    I have a couple of almost comical moments in my marriage to Mike, which exemplified what I think. Mike was a person who needed neatness and order.  He was uncomfortable with chaos.  One day within the first 20 years of our marriage, he came up to me and said, "I like things neat; you don't. Being neat is better than being messy; therefore, you should be neat as I am." I said, "This is a marriage. I have as much right to my neurotic need for disorder as you have to your neurotic need for order." Now that doesn't mean that I didn't strive to be more orderly both because it was his need and because I understood that my need for disorder was neurotic and, therefore, not the best for me either. Mike's needs served as extra motivation. It was a slow, laborious process on my part.  I never conquered it entirely, but my area of messiness became smaller and smaller.  

    On the other hand, my messiness allowed Mike to deal with his neurotic fear of chaos. It gave him an opportunity to realize that life could go on smoothly even if there was some disorder. He didn't have more of a right to his needs than I did to mine. He couldn't just tell me that his way of doing something was superior to mine and bully me into doing it his way. Instead, I responded to his needing order and made adjustments to his needs as he made adjustments to mine because I cared about him and respected his needs, even if they were neurotic. I had to search for the narrow way between his needs and my own.  I believe it was healing for him to deal with my disorder, which, while it was ever-present, was never all-consuming. 

    In a second story, Mike came up to me one day, around the same point in our marriage, and said, "I do all the cooking. That's not fair. You should do some of the cooking." Now, I hate cooking. I would just as readily not eat at all if I have to cook. It's bad.  But I went to work.  A friend had recommended the Fit for Life cookbook, which was all the rage at the time.  I started cooking vegetarian meals.  I hated every minute of it. 

    Mike said, "Hey, you're not supposed to cook vegetarian meals. You're supposed to cook what I want to eat. "I said, "If I'm cooking, I'm cooking what I want to eat."  

    A few days later, he came up to me again and said, "I've been thinking about it. When I cook, you do the dishes. When you cook, you do the dishes. That's not fair.  From now on, I'll do all the cooking, and you do all the dishes." DEAL! That's what we had been doing before, and it suited me very nicely.  I love doing dishes; and, Mike loved cooking. We were a match made in heaven.

    

Wednesday, June 26, 2019

    At Bikram today, Heather came over and told me my spine was straight. Maybe someday it will show up at the chiropractor’s too. I went to Safeway after class for bread, cheese, but no thou.  When I came home, I did my Bikram laundry. Katherine was soaking her in legs Epson salts in the two Home Depot buckets I had cleaned out for her to use.  

    I took a long nap. I did no gardening despite my best intentions. I did do some work on the blog and catalog more books. Catherine went out for a farmer’s market. She didn’t come home for dinner. I was a little concerned.  She thought to call me to say she was at friends’ home and would be home around 9. She is very considerate. 

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

    I’ m experiencing an irritable response to my house guest.   Being born without sin may be being born without that response to not getting our way.

     Yvette brought home a stray -human being.  Catherine’s a 30-year-old Swiss who is traveling the world. Yvette met her at the massage school where she works.  Of course, she asked me if she could stay.  Although it wasn’t clear how long she would have to be here, and  I’m still not sure about how long.  It has been well over three days, the limit for fish and quests. 

    Now, this is a lovely, considerate woman with fantastic social skills, and I am the world’s most relaxed hostess.  I encourage people to make themselves comfortable.  If they feel something needs to be cleaned, be my guest.  I show them where the cleaning equipment is kept. 

    It must be over a week now that she has been in the house. She respects my privacy, leaves me alone when I signal what I want, cooks for me, and does a fantastic job cleaning up my kitchen counters straightening up and clearing some glass containers that had me stumped.  I had wanted to get rid of them, but Damon told me to hold on to them because I might want to use them as fruit bowls.  Let me see; we’re talking about four such dishes. Also, there were these lids that I was sure belonged to something, but I couldn’t figure out what. With her straightening, my confusion was cleared. Three of those containers are going to charity. 

    Despite all the positives, I am feeling some discomfort.  I feel like someone is putting light pressure on my internal organs. I believe that behind that is that rage. Do I feel rage? No.  I feel discomfort.  Is my discomfort logical? No.  Yes, she is invading my space, but not to my disadvantage. I enjoy her company.  It is good to have someone in the house since Mike is gone. There is someone else for me to focus on besides just me.  

    Nonetheless, she is invading my space. She is an alien.  She is not me.  It feels like I’m wearing an ill-fitting suit. I’m aware of pressure in places I don’t normally feel it.

    I would say this is what happens whenever we adjust to new circumstances, any new circumstances, spouse, babes, even animals.  We have to adjust, changing either ourselves or the circumstances, so the areas of discomfort are resolved or make our peace with a certain degree of discomfort.  

    My guess this is what happens in all living arrangements, probably all relationships.  With a partner/lover/spouse or child, we have the motivation to ride it out. As one young mother said about her newborn, “If he weren’t so cute, we’d throw him out the window.”  It’s a huge adjustment, but throwing him out is not an option as it might be with a guest.  We wait it out. Hopefully, we evaluate what we are adapting to, but never put up with actual abuse.

Tuesday, June 25, 2019

  

    Today was my yoga class after visiting the chiropractor yesterday for my every other week's appointment.  The first day after the chiropractor, I always experience something new in my body. Today, it was a much bigger stretch in the left leg, but then I needed to rest. I did.  This is one of the wonderful things about the Bikram class. I can decide what my body needs. If I feel I have to lie on my mat for the rest of the class to allow my body to adjust to new circumstances, I can, and no one comes over and tries to get me to do something else. Ahhh!

    I stopped to get gas at Costco and then went to Farm and Garden for soil amendment that Margo recommended. Margo used to run a full-on nursery and is considered one of the most knowledgeable professional gardeners (is that the right word) in Kona.  Sunday, a week ago, I showed her I picture of a ground cover plant I wanted when I saw her at church.  This last Sunday, she arrived with four plants in hand, hearts, and flowers, and recommended that a get some 'soil amendment.' Okay, so I went to the desk at Farm and Garden and asked for the 'soil amendment.' The woman looked at me like I had two heads and asked me what I wanted. I dropped Margo's name. Yes, she knew who Margo was, and these were the things she bought. When I got home, I texted Margo to tell her I needed more specific information.  She gave me the name of a product. Yeah!  She was giving me way too much credit. 

    When I got home, I set the alarm for 11:30 because I had a Petco grooming appointment for Elsa that I had made online for 12.  While waiting for the alarm to go off, I drank my morning soup and worked on three days of entries for the blog.

    When the alarm went off, I was surprised that time had flown so quickly. Elsa and I drove down to town.  She likes sitting in my nap when I drive. I tried to put her in a carrying case or a restraint.  Hmm! I don't think so. When I got to Petco, there was no record of an appointment, but the groomer agreed to see Elsa at 2 pm.  Also, she said that she should be washed weekly if she is having allergy problems.  Mike and I never did that. Too lazy or disorganized.

    I drove us back home. I didn't have a lot of time before I had to drive back down to town. I did some weeding in the back yard, loaded the washer with Scott's and my Bikram stuff, took my shower, did MELT, dressed, and drove back down to drop off Elsa at 2.

    I just reread the last several blogs and noticed that I haven't mentioned Catherine. Catherine is a stray Yvette picked up at the massage studio. She came in for a massage and stayed afterward to chat. It came out that the friends she had been staying with needed the room for visiting family, and she had to find somewhere else to live. I said yes, having no idea what this would entail.  I went to camp. When I was twenty-nine,  I moved into a commune. I was open. She moved in on Saturday night.

    Catherine is a 30-year-old Swiss who is here in Hawaii on a long, long vacation. She had been living with Valerie and Larry for 2 months. Up to this point, things have been going reasonably well. She is an easy person to live with. She asks for what she wants and respects my space.      One night, she was preparing to cook and asked me if  I wanted some. I told her that I would like it if she always cooked enough for me too. She said she would be pleased to.  She loves cooking.  I heard her cooking in the kitchen.  This is the first person in my life who never knew Mike, who was cooking in his kitchen.  I could feel him being beside himself with joy that someone was preparing meals for me.  He has been watching and knows that I have not been enjoying meals I prepare for myself except for the salad and that wonderful bread with butter.  I often skip the rest of the meal because it doesn't please me. Feeling his joy over my being fed a good meal made me aware of his great sweetness and how I miss him.  I actually cried over, losing him for the first time. 

    My first grief was for the rest of the world that knew him and benefitted from his knowledge and kindness. The second wave of grief was for him and how he couldn't continue to enjoy his current life, which was the happiest period of his life. Now comes the third wave of grief for myself and my loss of such sweetness in my life.

    Catherine is working out very well. We've been negotiating space and facilities.  I am grateful that she is here. I feel no need to be a hostess and take care of her. I don't feel a particular need to be sociable when I don't feel like it.  I feel no pressure and no discomfort.  There someone else who needed living quarters that I considered offering it to, but she is tense and generally critical of others. That would have been hard for me. Catherine is more interested in who people are and what they are thinking than getting everything her way. I'm pretty easy too. My years at camp and in the commune serve me in good stead.  Of course, my idea of hosting sometimes drove Mike crazy. He would put out hors oeuvre plates with cheese and crackers, a bowl of popcorn, and some nuts.  Me, not so much.  I say, "Hungry?" and point to where the food is.

    Since Catherine and I started talking about shared food, I showed her the freezer full of food that I had no idea what to do with. More to the point, I hate cooking and actually would almost rather not eat than cook.  You would think the pounds are just melting off of me.  Think again.

    After I showed her the freezer, we checked out some of the cabinets.  I had cleaned out all the cabinets sometime in March, but I hadn't been in any of them since. Well, we found one shelf filled with grains filled with bugs. Even in the closed packaging, the bugs had eaten everything worth eating in the package.  I took all the compromised grains right out to the composter. Catherine got to work wiping down the drawers. When we pulled the shelves out, we could see an impressive collection of bugs on the cabinet floor.  I got the vacuum cleaner. It's a Shark that Yvette bought for us before we moved here.  (Yes, we are the proud owners of two vacuum cleaners.) I had no idea how to attach the tools to the Shark.  After a failed attempt, I figured it out and vacuumed those little consumers out.  I took the vacuum collection tank outside and dumped it into the garbage. When I came back, Katherine was wiping and swapping as these little critters had been let loose in our world.  I finally sprayed the pull-out shelves with rubbing alcohol.  

    Then I sat down to call Airbnb and Turo to get receipts when I was in Honolulu with Mike before he died.  My accountant tells me all the money I spent over those 5 weeks Mike was in the hospital are tax-deductible. The Airbnb site was pretty easy to figure out once I got the instructions. Turo said to go to my app, etc.  I was on chat and told the guy. "I'm 78; what's an app?"  That's somewhat of an exaggeration, but I would have liked more help. I knew Catherine or Josh would be able to help me.

    I threw today's Bikram laundry in the dryer because it had been raining for two days.  The stuff I hung up the day before yesterday was somewhat dry.  I threw that in the drier too, except for the yoga towels that seemed to have some plastic in them. Figure they'd melt.

    Catherine continues working on her leg wounds she acquired hiking.  Scratches are not a good idea in the tropics. There's too much staph around, and wounds can get easily infected. Catherine's are.  She has been treating them with turmeric, tea tree oils, and cleansing processes.  The wounds don't seem to be getting worse, but they are not getting much better either.  I am recommending soaking her legs in cider vinegar and Epsom salts.  I remember when my toe got infected after an operation because the doctor unwisely told me I could exercise.  Little did he anticipate what that meant for me.  When I complained of the infection, he let me know I had overdone it.  He said he meant moderate exercise. Moderate is a relative term. I thought I was being moderate.  I would hardly consider myself an extreme sports nut.

    Yvette texted me and asked if another stray could park his car in our driveway.  Apparently, this guy lives on the other side of the island, Hilo, but is studying massage in a school in Kona.  He has to be on this side of the island from Tuesday through Friday until July 7. He's been sleeping in his car and showering a Planet Fitness. He got a parking ticket for sleeping in his car. Hawaii has the biggest homeless problem in the nation. There are two reasons. One, obviously, the weather invites people from all over the nation. What they don't realize is that the ground here is as hard as a rock, literally.  There is no smooth ground on the island that hasn't been flattened and graded or paved by man.  One would think the ordinances against sleeping in one's car would be eliminated. At least that person owns a car. Unless they have plans to herd the homeless and drive them into the sea, some of these ordinances are draconian. Of course, the local businesses are affected by the homeless greeters around their establishments. 

    At any rate, this boy will either be sleeping in his car or more likely sleeping on one of the other beds in my house.  I seem to be running a hostel for the thirty-something crowd. It's not really a bad deal.  Especially since my grief for my sweet, sweet Michael is setting in. God, I loved that man. He was perfect for me, well as perfect as a human partner could get.  

    I was one fortunate lady. He picked me out of the crowd and said, "That one! That's the one I want." He saw in me what I wanted to be seen for, someone who would take care of herself and be equally as concerned about the needs of the other. I am unbelievably happy to say that he never changed his opinion of me after 45 years together.  But this was as much his doing as mine.  We were able to negotiate our needs.  I know many people who are not up for talking and negotiating. They see all forms of negotiation as manipulation. They believe everything should happen 'naturally.' I know many people who won't even consider the other person's point of view. If I had such a partner, he would have believed me the most selfish, inconsiderate person on the planet. Mike saw me as I wanted to be seen and was able to use these qualities to benefit both of us.  How lucky was I!!    

Monday, June 24, 2019

    I called LSW, the company holding my annuity.  They had emailed me a document to reassign the beneficiaries since Mike no longer needed the money.  They agreed to hard mail me one. 

    The Bikram class was small today, probably because it was overcast, and no one wanted to get out of bed. I didn't. I had my chiropractor appointment at 9:30 and was in somewhat of a hurry. Obstacles were thrown in my way left and right. The shower door at the yoga studio had been closed already.  I had to go around to the front and ask if someone could open the door.  When I got to the dressing room, Yvette was occupying the only one available since Crista was doing some painting. She took forever because it was hard to get her clothes on in the humidity. Too sticky. To move things along, I asked the woman sitting on the bench with her back to the window in the storefront lobby to please hold up my towel.  She understood what I had in mind and was good with it. I peeled off my sports bra top and wrapped the towel around me.  I managed to get myself dry and put on my T-shirt before Yvette got out.  Then I ducked into the stall, stripped off the pants, and put on my underwear and street shorts.  I made it to my appointment just in the nick of time.

    Kim, the chiropractor, continued working on my upper body and my left ankle, which was expanded to my left shin and my left IT band.  I thought that I have made improvements in my spinal curvature, but Kim says there's no difference. When I made an adjustment in my ribs, she said that it threw my hips off.  Hmm! Not good.  I made a different adjustment, pulling my ribs up rather than to the side, and she said that wasn't as bad.  I know in the yoga class I look straighter. I'm certainly using different sets of muscles, more core muscles are involved in everything I do.

    I'm thinking Mike is still with me always. I don't think of myself of thinking of him because I am never not thinking about him. After 45 years, he's a constant subtheme in my mind. I always knew where he is, approximately at times, but more often than not exactly where he was.  He loved sharing schedules.  This was part of his campaign to defeat chaos.  He was as much a part of my sense of self as the air. I can't imagine him not being around. But as time passes, my sense of where he is getting fuzzier. I don't worry because reality kicks in. Ah, yes. He's just not anymore. No worries.

    Damon didn't call yesterday. It did make me sad.  I do seem to need that consistency, that commitment.  I will ask for it. We'll see.   I agreed to be his guardian, at his request, if both his parents died; now, he is my one of my guardians that I have lost my primary caretaker.  I am becoming more aware that I have no one who is my default person and for whom I am their default person.  I have a good number of people concerned about me and reach out, but it's not the same.  Mike was wonderful that way.  If he was away, he called every night and sometimes several times a day.  We were always connected, even if we were doing different things. 

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Musings

    I think I finally got what people mean by ego, but I think it is at least an inappropriate use of language.  Ego, as it is commonly used, means a person's belief that their way is always right, and that they're better than everyone else. 

    Aside from ego's function simply defining ourselves: female, first-generation American, 78, recently widowed (my ego is in the process of incorporating that definition), a resident of Hawaii, a joyful, grateful resident of Hawaii. Ego can also be a person's belief that their way is always wrong, and that they are worse than everyone else.   The latter is also a definition of yourself, a person's ego-sense.  One either has a healthy, functional ego or an unhealthy dysfunctional ego; no, instead, our egos are on a continuum. Some aspects of our egos are functional, and some parts are in use of improvement.  

    The dysfunctional ego is always judging other people or self by some internal rules, judging others, or themselves as right or wrong.  I know when my ego points are hit.  As someone once said to me, "if you want to know who you really are, see what you project onto others." Caveat: I believe this means many others. There are always people whose traits we really dislike. I do check myself, but it is still hard for me to see some of the characteristics I see in someone else are in myself, even if I know better. Sometimes, these traits may be well hidden from me and even others, but some piece is stuck in me like a hard to extract splinter.  I continue to work on this with my therapist.  I find that what is most annoying to me serves as the best key as to what needs to be resolved.  

    When I was a child, I was introduced to the concept of hubris.  My parents defined that as any form of pride, at least my mother did.  She saw encouraging any sense in her children that they had done something well or were good people as bad parenting; she thought she was doing something dangerous for her children. (Go figure. She was very, very German. She was a stereotype of a German.) But hubris as I understand it isn't just overconfidence as to one's worth, but an assumption I am better than others, I am elevating myself to the level of the gods, or God.  I am holding myself as someone above the limitations of mere mortals.  

    This is a good argument for believing in God if it prevents us from assuming that we are godlike.  Ah, if only this would work. But instead, people seem to think that they are riding to excellence on the tail of their God, who is better than any other god.  We are an annoying species. 

    Also, there is ego flexibility.  If there is a change, can I cope with it?  If my husband dies and I am no longer a 'wife,' am I still a worthwhile person? Or am I now worthless, no longer a person, because I have lost my status as 'wife'? Mike's mother fell victim to that belief. My mother, who had her own problems, did not. She became heroic in the face of her new responsibilities; mother of two children 15 and 10, and her own mother.  She is my role model in this regard.  Thank you,  Mom.

Saturday, June 22, 2019

    I am missing Mike. It’s depleting my energy. I did Bikram and low gear. I told Heather about a dramatic change I am experiencing due to the Alexander exercise she suggested. For the first time in my adult life, the strap of my dress didn’t fall off my left shoulder. I haven’t even been able to keep bra straps from slipping off my shoulder. It drives me nuts.

    I stopped over at the T-Mobile store to get my new phone set up. I asked if they had the iPhone 7 in a color other than black, but that is the only color they have left. The process took forever. I actually went over to Target in the meantime to buy swim shoes and Hersey’s Milk Chocolate bars with whole almonds. Despite the store having other customers, Keith got right back to me when I returned. 

    I’ve been saving Mike’s old phone. This is another piece of giving him up. He’s not going to need his phone, and neither will I. 

    I stopped off at Costco on the way home for salad and lemons. When I got home, I read some more of Mike’s book and napped.

     In the evening, I went to a Pins and Poses pop up class at the Bikram studio. The first half of the class is restorative yoga, and during the second half, an acupuncturist comes around and sticks pins in your hand, and it the top of the head.  I experienced my body in totally different ways during the first half. I learned a new appreciation for my physical limitations. The question is, how much is due to my left hip and how much is due to other problems in my body.  When doing a leg stretch with a strap, I had more problems with my right leg than my left. 

    Yvette led the poses section of the workshop. She is a fantastic teacher. She has a wonderful voice, calm and strong. She gives crystal clear directions and assures everyone that she will help if there is any confusion.  She had the consideration to set me up right next to her in case I needed help getting into or out of a position.  I couldn’t recommend her more highly.

     Feel like I don’t want to write, but then love it when I do. Go figure. I am feeling more tired than usual. I don’t want to get up in the morning even though I know that I can nap when I get home. I love napping in general, and I like sleeping on the sofa more than I like sleeping in my bed.  The sofa is set up as an anti-gravity chair. 

    I think I may have found a possible explanation for why the hybrid battery didn’t fully charge the other day, a possible explanation.  I feel the serviceman, while honest, doesn’t know a lot about the electric cars.  He knows more than I do, but I may be able to figure out other causes in case he gets stuck.

Sunday, June 23, 2019

     I had a chance to sleep in today because there was no Bikram and church was a 10 am.  I didn’t do my usual Sunday walk with Elsa, going all the way around the block, because my leg was bothering me. 

    My dress didn’t fall off my left shoulder again today in church. Wow! Wow! Wow! This is the first time in my adult life that clothing hasn’t slipped toward the left and off the left shoulder.  That Alexander exercise is so simple and such a big adjustment.

Friday, June 21. 2019

    After yoga class today, Heather, the yoga instructor, showed me an Alexander exercise. This produced terrific results. She told me to grab under my ribs with both hands and pull them up, then relax my shoulders and bring my arms down. It evened out my body immediately.  Now, I took a course in the Alexander Technique at my dance studio when I lived in Princeton, and I read the book.  I don’t remember any exercise like this.  It worked like a charm.  I wish Mike were still alive so I could teach it to him.  Maybe he would have responded to this.  Usually, when I gave him suggestions on how to stand straighter, he would adjust his posture, sarcastically say, “Wow, This is comfortable,” and immediately revert to his old habitual stance.
    After Bikram, I went to the bank to deposit checks. There was a long line, but it went surprisingly quickly.    After that, I went to the transfer station to drop off the several brown paper bags of glass I had loaded in the car yesterday. The last stop was a Kaiser to pick up my medication for my UTI.
    When I got home, I called LSW, where I have an annuity I built up while I was working at Licking Heights in Ohio.  I asked them to email a change of beneficiary form.  This should be the last piece of the financial puzzle.  After this is completed, I will hard mail Damon, who is the executor of the will when I pass, all the documents telling him where the money is hidden and who to contact in the event of my death to tell them to stop sending money.  

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

    The work I did with my therapist led me to thoughts about what it would mean to be born without sin, as Jesus and the Virgin Mary are said to be.  Now I’m not getting into a discussion about the validity of any religious beliefs.  I’m interested here in what these stories, whether real or not, tell us about us human beings, and yes, help us to become better people.
    How does this sound: to be born without sin means to be born without hatred for others. Now, I don’t mean a big hatred where we hate whole groups of people for being different from us or some person who did something terrible to hurt us.  I mean the little hatreds we have for people we also love and depend on and who love and depend on us.  Those moments of annoyance or frustrations where rage just surges in us.  We often use the words, “ I could just kill you.” They are meaningless.  They certainly do not contain any serious threat. But, do these words implicitly reflect that inner rage that we all carry inside when people don’t do what we want or do something we don’t want? That surge of rage comes from a primitive part of our brains. With any luck, we are not ruled by it but simply understand its reactivity as information about our boundaries.
    My thought is that we can say that Jesus suffered like a real human but never had that inner rage; he never felt any anger toward his torturers or those who betrayed or even disappointed him.  Maybe that’s what it means to be born without sin.  This is important for me. I watched my mother give vent to her frustrations on my sister and me.  She felt no need to control herself. Close to the end of her life, she said to me, “I never needed therapy; I had children.” I didn’t ask her to clarify her thinking, but I’m pretty sure that she meant that she was able to vent her frustration and therefore feel better; that was her concept of the function of therapy. It never occurred to her that she might have done damage to her children in the process.
    Mike’s mother behaved similarly. She acted out all over the place.  I think she just thought that was who she was, and change wasn’t possible. It was when I clearly saw that rage in myself that I swore I would never have children.  I didn’t want to pass on this behavior.  I didn’t want to do to my children what had been done to me, and I had no reason at the time to think that the emotional surge was normal; it was the behavior that wasn’t, and I could change.
    I have been hard on myself for these feelings all my life. I desperately did not want to be like my mother. But as so often happens, we go to the opposite extreme. I set a goal for myself that was literally inhuman, which does not mean that having that goal improved my behavior immediately.  While I think I have improved, I accept that the perfection I had in mind is out of reach for me in the human condition. To be human means to feel these frustrations and responded with anger, but it if not to act it out.  I’ve had to learn to forgive myself for being human.
    I think the story of Jesus is there to remind us that while it is worth striving for the ideal that he represents, it is never an attainable goal for us mere mortals.  We have to learn to live within our own parameters and do the best we can.
    It was through Buddhist meditation that I learned much of this self-acceptance. Buddha was talking about these frustrations and reactions over 2000 years ago. They’re not new in our modern world. It was there that I received instructions on how to deal with those feeling and reduce if not eliminate my reactivity.  I was finally able to change.
    Judy, my very, very Catholic friend, argued that Jesus did experience anger, but it was righteous anger.  I know the difference within myself between righteous anger and that other kind. Whatever you want to call it. They feel very different. They come from different places in my body. However, I once expressed ‘righteous’ anger in a totally inappropriate situation. What had happened was trivial.  Rage, righteous or otherwise, was not appropriate.  So much for being sure about what’s right and what’s wrong. God’s little joke on us. Go forth and be good people, ah, yes, and do it with this handicap.

Thursday, June 20, 2019

    Before the yoga class started this morning, I asked Heather to keep an eye on me and let me know if I was crooked. She had me turned to another student, Maite and had her mirror my posture so I could correct it. The postural change felt weird.  Weird is good. That means there was a change.

    I had my telephone appointment with Shelly scheduled for 10 am. I observed that I'm in less continuous grief than I have been for most of my life. A few months ago, I worked on resolving a sadness I carried in my heart for as long as I can remember. I'm thinking that the weight of grief is cumulative.  If the loss of Mike had been added to my historic grief, it would be more difficult to bear.  As it is, I'm only experiencing moments of sadness, and they are never debilitating.  I also have moments of joy, thinking of talking to Mike, and sharing my life with him now.  I know, without a doubt, that if he can be watching over me, he is.  He won't tell me how he's doing except to say that he's okay if I'm okay.  

    I have been reading C.S. Lewis's book A Grief Observed, a little bit each night before I turn out the light.  His situation was very different from mine.   To begin with, he experienced two devastating losses in his childhood.  His beloved dog died when he was 4, and his mother died when he was 9.  Before her death, he was homeschooled. After her death, his father sent him to a boarding school.  His loss record is impressive. He remained single until he was 57.  He had sealed himself off from any possible pain by adopting the life of an academic bachelor.  He had known the woman who became his wife for several years before the recognized his love for her. He was only pushed to take the plunge when she was diagnosed with cancer.  She died four years after they were married. 

    Now I lost my father when I was 15, which certainly threw my psyche off course. Whether the deviation was ultimately an improvement or not, we will never know.  The loss did motivate me to feel that I had to be a complete person, by some personal intuitive standard, before I could commit to a long-term relationship.  I had to be prepared to be on my own. 

    I understand that it is not uncommon for people who have lost a parent as a child to feel the need to anticipate the death of a loved one regularly, even when there is no such threat on the horizon.  Mike used to joke that I was always in a hurry to bury him.  He also made such a comment in the first week he was in the hospital.  However, I feel I am doing reasonably well now without him because I have been preparing for this moment for 45 years.  Now that Elsa, my dog, and I have bonded, I've started the grieving process with her too. It's almost how I know that I care about people or animals: I started contemplating my life without them.  

    It may sound maudlin, but there are advantages.  Since I did allow myself to invest deeply in Mike, the constant awareness that I might lose him at any moment made every moment precious.  Nothing was taken for granted.  

    Lewis did not work to resolve his historic grief, and it was only the inevitable death of a woman he valued that shook him out of his protective cocoon. I dug myself out voluntarily.  I dealt with the possibility of loss daily.  I valued what I shared with Mike daily.  Anniversaries and birthdays had little meaning in the context of our daily recognition that we had something valuable in each other.   I loved having Mike in my life, and I was always okay if he was gone. Of course, gone in the past meant gone for a day, a weekend, most of a week when he was studying for his second Ph.D. at Catholic University when my mother and I continued living in Princeton, N.J.   I was, and am, good with him and without him.  He helped me become this person who can survive without him.  I also have some weird feeling that I am also becoming more like him; I am filling the spaces he left empty with his death. He's not gone.  He will never be gone. His impact on me is vast;  I formed in these last 45 years in relationship to him, as he developed in relationship to me.

     Today I also worked with my therapist on my ambivalence about wanting recognition for the work I have developed. I sat with the uncertainty and released anything negative about wanting that recognition and keeping anything positive or anything I still needed.  And then doing the opposite, releasing anything negative about not wanting that recognition and keeping anything positive or anything I still needed about that.  What came up was rage, supersized rage.  It was scary.  I worked on releasing my fear of it and waiting for it to change. The rage shot me out of the space I was in, and I was floating over a beautiful meadow.   Shelly said I had a waking flying dream. I have never had a flying dream before. I have been aware that others do, and I didn't, but I haven't known the significance. I still don't.  I wasn't wholly comfortable floating around.  I kept on peddling with my legs as if I could control my movement doing that. 

    I remember reading once, I believe in a Shirly MacLaine book, that it is possible to die in one of those flying dreams. They were described as out of body experiences, and if the silver cord connected that floating self to the body was cut, the person could die.  I asked Shelly to keep a good grip on the cord so I couldn't go too far.  Again, I have no idea if there is really any truth to this, but I figured better safe than sorry.

    I interpreted the experience of floating as the ultimate individualism.  There was no one else in the picture. I was totally alone, disconnected from the earth, and from social commitments.  In my early thirties, just before I met Mike, I hitched from Boston, where I was visiting a friend, to an undeveloped piece of property in Maine owned by someone I met in Boston. I stayed there alone for something like 3 to 5 days.  I made a lean-to with tarps.  I had never been so peaceful.  I left knowing that I would have to work out my relationship with others, which scared me to death, but I also knew that I had a peacefulness inside of me when I was alone.  What was scary was the degree of separation from others. I needed to feel safe.  Being that alone seemed like a frightening prospect. I left with a deepened commitment to work it out. It seemed like the only moral path. 

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

   

I came across some papers on St. Ignatius's discerning process in the process of cleaning up' Mike's library.  It starts out saying that there are good spirits and evil spirits. Good spirts make you happy, give consolation, and bad spirits create desolation, distress. In the beginning, this sounds like a simple process,  and then it goes on to explain how difficult discernment really is.  Feeling good can be used by evil to create false contentment, and feeling bad can be used by the good spirits to push us to change.  He sees it as a most confusing process. The author and I totally agree.  He says the key aspect is our commitment to do God's will versus following our own desires.  Great!  That solves everything, doesn't it? How do we know when we are doing 'God's will?

    Discernment is the key to most of life when to zig versus zag. Every moment of our lives creates opportunities to do one or the other.  Some cling to a commitment to God or the church or prayer or meditation or exercise, which serves to help them avoid real discernment.  There is no secure standard of measure.  How do any of us know if we are following the will of God, whatever that means? Let's say it means doing the maximum good for self and everyone else.  As I read the description of being good, it generally focuses on others instead of self.  I argue that the goal is the narrow path between what is best for self and others. That's the most difficult one. Ignoring self means ignoring others, and, conversely, ignoring others means ignoring self. If our well-being depends on the welfare of others, it logically follows that their well-being depends on ours.  We cannot overlook self or others. If we focus just on self or just on others, we will be led astray. 

    I have devised a means of discernment that I use in my healing work, which I have had considerable success with.  It starts with a person's intent.  If someone comes to me declaring they want power over others, I'm not interested.  However, I can appreciate that they feel they need more control over their own lives. Yet, if they only hold others responsible for the problems in their life, I'm not their 'man.' 

    Most discernment starts with two choices,  good versus evil, or just good versus bad. The method I use offers three options, and it asks the body-brain to do the work, not the conscious mind. The choices involve what's bad, what's good, and what the person still needs.  Introducing the last two elements is essential. First, it recognizes that someone may release a little of what is holding them back, but not all of it.  It acknowledges their boundaries, their limitations without abandoning the ideal.  It respects the person in the most profound sense of the word, not just their conscious intentions. None of us are only our conscious intentions; at least that's what I believe, and I'm sticking to it.  Offering the three choices allows the person to release what they can and what they are ready to release.  It doesn't propose an all or nothing choice. 

    The second aspect of the work is that it requires examining feelings from two perspectives: the desire to have something and the desire not to have the same thing,  the fear of not having something, and the fear of having that thing. I find when I do a release on the less obvious feeling, I get the most significant release and the most valuable information as to the next move in the healing.

    Overriding all the work details is the intent of the conscious mind; that intent has to be for the well-being of self and others, even someone who has done them harm.  This does not mean they are working on being 'nice' to someone. Sometimes, we have to push people away simply because they are too toxic for us, and it may be the best thing for them.  Being good to people does not always mean being nice, not even always gentle. As with all discernment, these are tough calls. All we can do is the best we can.  Here intention comes in.  The intention is what determines our course, followed by the prayer, "Lord, let me do no harm."