Saturday, July 13, 2019

    At the end of Bikram today, I got into a conversation with Bruce, a student on the mat next to mine.  I have no idea how it started, but he was telling me that he taught martial arts to children, and they couldn’t follow directions for love nor money.  I gave him some suggestions on how to teach this skill. Step one: isolate a specific action from the larger activity, training them to follow those directions. It will save time in the long run.
    Then the topic of kinesthetic awareness came up.  It was clear that these kids had none.  I showed him how to teach that to them by using my method of Micromoves, very slowly moving either the fingers or toes-  -very slowly.  While he could feel the impact of the movement, it didn’t feel weird.  That suggests that his kinesthetic awareness was fairly well developed.  People who are not used to body awareness at a muscular level find the experience strange, and some don’t even feel that I’m moving their fingers or toes — just some weird sensation.
    I asked him if he was aware that I had a high degree of kinesthetic awareness. He said, “I am now.”  Before, he thought I was moving slowly to be cautious.  Now, that’s true too.  He didn’t think he could apply the principles I use at his skill level.  I told him I could show him how to adapt them for his needs. He said from now on he would try to be near me so he could watch what I do.    I was surprised that someone skilled in a movement discipline didn’t recognize what I am doing.  However, I ‘m not sure I could determine what someone else is doing, either.
    After Bikram, I went to the health food store for pumpkin seeds and golden flax seeds. Then to UPS to drop off a trunk stuffed with bubble wrap.  Mike Glaser, my cousin, had borrowed three pictures of my great-aunt for an exhibition in her home town in Germany.   They were returned a while ago, but I had postponed unwrapping them because I wanted to wait until Damon arrived, and we could rearrange pictures in my house together.  I opened one of the returned paintings, a young boy in a petting zoo, because I had a place for it, and it wasn’t going to change.  Then I opened the second one because it had a fixed place also. I took the third out of the box. The three paintings were surrounded in layers and layers of bubble wrap. UPS reuses the stuff.  Ah!
    Then I went to the bank and deposited two checks from the State of New Jersey Pension and Benefits Department.  One was a widow’s benefit for something like $1500.  Given what it costs to cremate someone today, that’s not much of a boon; Social Security is even worse. The other check was all the payments from March through July.  I also got a withholding tax form from them.  It asks if I’m single or married.  I had to think about it.  I guess I’m single, at least for tax purposes. I suppose even for dating purposes — another cut.
    Then I went to Costco.  I received a notification to renew my membership. Mike and I had the Executive Membership for $125.  Our rewards for this year didn’t cover the $125, and with me alone, it will be even less.  I haven’t decided whether to join Josh and Yvette on their membership or get my own for $60, without the rewards program.  There is no way it will be worth it for me.
    When I got home, Kathrin was busy in the kitchen cleaning out the cabinets.  When she is inspired to rearrange, she always asks me first.  I had mixed feelings.  Yes, I told her she could clean whenever she liked. Yes, I am thrilled to have the cabinets cleaned. What a great house guest! But, but despite all the positives, there is a sense of boundary violation.  Oh, it’s hard being human.
    Kathrin helped me unload the car.  I put the Bikram stuff from Scott and me in the laundry with some miscellaneous items for Kathrin and me. Then I had my morning soup and did some work on the blog.

Friday, July 12, 2019

    When I got home from Bikram, there was still no sign of Kathrin.  She had dinner with a friend last night and planned to stay over.  She didn't have a car and was dependent on him to drive her home.  I have no idea what their plans are.  An old New York friend of mine once said, "You always have to leave room for people to fall in love on the subway."  I'm not worried. I know the guy through Bikram, and I'm sure he's not a serial killer.
    I was alone most of yesterday and now today. I'm rather enjoying it.  I don't know if I just enjoy being alone, or I'm in a better mood for no particular reason.  I got some things done this morning, which always makes me feel better. I don't make a list or even remember what I would put on a list, but undone chores weigh on me.
    Last night B came up to offer me some freshly picked bananas still on the stem. Hey, Rousseau, bananas grow up not down. I got him to demonstrate how to tie a knot in the nylon fish line, again. I didn't get it the first time. This time I videoed him doing it, and he used an electric cord to demonstrate, so it was easy for me to see.  Now that I can tie these knots on my own, I can work reassembling my mom's wind chime.
    After announcing that I was through with cataloging the books, I realized there was one more shelf I had missed. I cataloged them and sent John Coughlin the email address of the librarian at Notre Dame Seminary so we can start the process of emptying the library of its 3700 books. I'm sure Mike feels sorry for leaving me with this job.  I think he was assuming we would die together, at least that was his plan, and Damon and Yvette would have been stuck with the job.  I know what they would have done: dialed 1-800-dumpster. That would have had both of us turning over in our graves.
    I have started cleaning out the area where the file cabinets are kept where I’m planning to put in a bathroom. I have found 4 empty boxes. Why? Mike saved everything.  I also found his old computer.  Hopefully, I can figure out the password and get into it.  I may  find the electronic copies of his dissertation and his other book.
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Musings:  I’m putting this separately so those who are not interested can choose not to read it.
     
I was looking up the Ho'oponopono, the Hawaiian healing prayer, when I happened upon a YouTube video of Joe Vitale describing it.  Boy, did I have a different understanding of the prayer! I like his version much better.
    Both the version I am already familiar with and his include taking responsibility for whatever is happening in the world,  good as well as bad.  But the prayer focuses on undoing our contribution to whatever is bad in the world.
    In the version I was familiar with, I said, "I'm sorry, I love you, forgive me, thank you," to the person who was suffering.  But in Vitalie's description, I am saying it to God, or some version of an infinite being.  I am supposed to say it whenever I observe something which disturbs me.  The theory is if it bothers me, I have some role in it.  I may not know what my part is, but it is there. I know I have a role because the circumstances trigger a reaction in me.
    I say the prayer not to heal the other person but myself.  I want to heal myself from my reaction.  In doing so, I also heal the other person or situation.
    I have known about the prayer for years, and have used it in the past as I thought it was supposed to be used.  I can't wait to put this approach to the prayer into action.  I think the difference is that it is for my healing as well as the other persons.  That sounds right to me.

Thursday, July 11, 2019

    Last night I finished cataloging the books, 3705.  There are probably about 50 that are duplicates, but yes, he has a lot of books. Completing this task makes me sad.  It is one more step to removing any trace of Mike from this house.  Getting rid of the books is a whole other thing. I figure it will take two years, at least, but it will be a loss by a thousand cuts slowly administered. I don’t know if that is better or worse.

    I am feeling the loss of Mike deeply.  I have no one who looks at me with delight and thinks, “How did I get to be so lucky?”  That’s what Mike used to say. I would look at him the same way, and think,  “How did I get so lucky to have been found by him?”  Yes, he initiated the relationship. He made up his mind that he wanted to marry me before our first date. I was like a skittish horse he had to tame.

    Yesterday, I called Jean, Mike’s first wife, and my hanai sister, because I needed to speak to someone I love and someone who loves me.  There may be other people who love me, but Jean can radiate love the way Mike could.  When she answered the phone, I told her why I had called. She is one of the few people who wouldn’t have responded as if that was weird. 

    Heather, the Bikram instructor, suggested that we lift our collar bones.  I tried it, and wow!  First off,  the movement from my collar bones has the effect of lowering my shoulders. As I lift them, the front of my chest rotates up without a backbend, and the shoulders rotate down. It’s a whole new world.

    It also changes my breathing.  J.J. had gotten me to change my breathing by extending my belly to exhale and sucking it in and up to take in a breath.  I had trouble doing it.  Now that Heather introduced the idea of lifting my collar bone, I am coordinating that with the inhale, and it is much easier.  

    There are theories that there is a relationship between breathing patterns and blood pressure.  High blood pressure runs in my family. Everyone had it, except me- until my five-week stint in the hospital with Mike,  I was on no blood pressure medication.  Now, I finally had high numbers too.  While I was in Oahu, my blood pressure was running 164/ 100.  I called my primary doctor and got on blood pressure medication immediately. I was on four pills a day and still had trouble bringing it down.  

    Since I’ve been home, I’ve been on two pills a day.    It’s not perfect, but certainly better.  Today I had these numbers:  140/8, 128/78, 134/80, 114/74.  It always starts higher, and I can always bring it down by modifying my breathing.  The last time I took it, it was 120/76 the first time.  I worked on my breathing while taking it.  I’m going to continue working on my breathing so I can get off these pills permanently.

    I wish I had known about this long ago. The doctor said Mike’s kidney disease was caused by high blood pressure. Maybe, just maybe, I could have gotten Mike to change his breathing.  

    His breathing always concerned me.  He would do one and a half to two breaths to my one, even when he was asleep and I was awake.  I believe that proper breathing is essential for good health. While I used my abdominal muscles incorrectly, I have always been a deep breather.  Why? I have no idea.  But Mike would never have changed.  When I tried to recommend some physical change,  he would say, “Wow, this is comfortable,” and go back to what seemed ‘natural’ to him. I know he never found dialysis comfortable.  If a doctor had told him to change his breathing and sent him to a respiratory therapist, he would have listened.  But I was not an ‘expert’ and so what I knew didn’t count.  Oh, well.

    Mike’s pancreatitis was a shocker too.  The only cause the doctor could identify was the pills he took for depression and anxiety. He did try therapy, but the trauma behind his anxiety was too deep, and no one could help him.  Before we left Ohio, he was working with someone who used EMDR. He said he thought that was helping.  We thought Kaiser wouldn’t cover the therapists we knew did it.  I tried to tell him we could afford the therapy, but he refused.  I accidentally learned that if your primary doctor at Kaiser prescribed EMDR, they would cover it.  He was seeing one but not often enough.  I don’t know if my commitment to transformation will save me from anything. Still, I believe that Mike’s unwillingness to experience the discomfort that comes with change contributed to his illnesses and death.   

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

    I listened to one of those new age (do they still call it that) radio programs. The guest had written a book called  No Self: Forty  Reasons to Get Over Yourself and Find Peace of Mind.  That poor self; it gets such a bad rap.  In the next sentence, the guest/author talked about who survives trauma without PTSD.  Guess what?  It’s the ones who pay attention to themselves instead of pushing down emotion.  Anyone else see a contradiction here?  

    Yes, overemphasizing individualism at the price of connection leaves us in despair, but overemphasizing communalism at the cost of individualism also leaves us in despair. It isn’t an either-or choice.  It’s a paradox. 

    If you look at any human hand, you know that it is human.  We are all built the same, at least by design.  The shape of our hands is universal among our species.  However, turn that hand over, and the details of it are so specific we can identify someone by their fingerprints.  The hand is both a symbol of the universal and the individual.  It is a paradox.  How can one thing be two things at the same time?  It just is.  

    Within us, there are these two conflicting needs: to be one with others, be part of something greater than ourselves, lose ourselves in it, and stand alone as a pure individual. Eastern religions emphasize losing ourselves in the universal. Christianity talks about losing ourselves. However, the promise of heaven is that we maintain our individuality.  Put those two together and see how they fit.   

    These contradictions are normal.  Everything is pulled in two directions: in toward the center and out toward the fringe.  Language works that way.  It pulls toward regular and the irregular simultaneously.  Sometimes one side wins too much, and we become lopsided. Balance, ah, how do we achieve that?  Is it possible to be permanently in balance? I doubt it.  We’re all on a carnival ride.

Tuesday, July 9, 2019

    I got more stretch in my left foot and lower leg at Bikram today, and my upper thighs when I stood upright. I put all my focus on those two objectives.  Heather, the instructor, came up to me during class to ask me if I was all right because I was doing such a minimal amount. I fear that I will lapse back into my old compensatory movement pattern if I try to do more.  I would rather start from the beginning and focus on these small changes.  Once my body gets used to them, I can go back to getting deeper into the asana. It amazes me that people don’t see what I‘m doing. However, I don’t know if I would see it clearly if I watched someone else work as I do. I think everyone thinks I’m having a bad day, or even worse, they worry that I’ve lost more of my range of movement due to age or depreciation.

    When I got home, Kathrin was on the phone.  She called me over.  It was her parents.  I suggested a while ago that she introduce me to them so they can see that she is in a safe situation and not with some crazy lady running a brothel. 

    Then I napped. Boy, am I ever tired.  Is it the work, the chiropractor, did on me yesterday? Is it the grief I feel about Mike’s loss triggered by my encounter in the bank yesterday? Is it lack of protein? Is it the oppressive humidity we have here now because of the side effects of a tropical depression? Is it the sudden withdrawal from Hersey’s Milk Chocolate Bars with whole almonds?  I’m off them for a while.

    I wasn’t getting satisfaction from them anymore. I was downing 2 to 3 bars a night and still not feeling satisfied.  I think it is a way to judge if something is good for me or not. If I am not satisfied by a little bit but require more and more, it’s bad for me, and my body needs a rest.  Judy suggested that this withdrawal could be a problem, causing insulin fluctuations. Who knows. Too many options. The one I can fix is the lack of protein. Kathrin is planning on making eggs tonight. 

    When I woke up from my several-hour nap, I saw Elsa had pooped on the lanai rug.  Poor girl, it certainly wasn’t her fault.  Usually, I go to the bathroom more frequently, and she will come and ask to go out of the bathroom door to the back yard.  I apologized for putting her in such a difficult position. Then to clean it up.  After I picked up the bulk of it, I went to work with my Rainbow vacuum cleaner. I poured water on the spot and sucked it up with the vacuum. I did that over and over until the spot looked clean and relatively dry.  In my experience, by the time I’m through with this procedure, the spot I’ve cleaned is the cleanest on the rug

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

    I believe there are several reasons people become addicted to chemicals.  Because of the opiate crisis, we know that it doesn’t always start as a pursuit of pleasure, keeping up while chugging with friends, or the avoidance of some physical pain. Some people use chemicals to self-medicate and avoid facing their disappointments with themselves and their lives. 

    Getting free from the grip of that addiction is a challenge.  There are two critical factors in making any changes in ourselves.  First, setting a goal, and second, having the means for achieving that goal: the what and the how. I am wondering how many of these folks only have the goal of freeing themselves from the addiction.  If that’s the goal, then they have to choose between their suffering with the addiction and their suffering without it. 

    Without the numbing effect of chemical addiction, they have to deal with pain,  shame, and disappointments.  With the addiction, they have to deal with the disappointment in themselves for not controlling themselves and the consequential shame.  If those are the only two choices, I can understand why addicts stick with their addiction.  At least with the addiction, there are moments when they are numbed to the pain.  Without the benefit of the chemicals, they have to face the pain and shame 24/7.  These folks don’t see a third option: being relatively free of suffering without chemicals.  How do you convince people that there is a third alternative?  How do you convince people they can survive exploring this third alternative?  It does mean facing something they would rather not about themselves. It’s a tough call if they can’t imagine dealing with hidden feelings without being destroyed by them.

Tuesday, July 9, 2019

    I got more stretch in my left foot and lower leg at Bikram today, and my upper thighs when I stood upright. I put all my focus on those two objectives.  Heather, the instructor, came up to me during class to ask me if I was all right because I was doing such a minimal amount. I fear that I will lapse back into my old compensatory movement pattern if I try to do more.  I would rather start from the beginning and focus on these small changes.  Once my body gets used to them, I can go back to getting deeper into the asana. It amazes me that people don’t see what I‘m doing. However, I don’t know if I would see it clearly if I watched someone else work as I do. I think everyone thinks I’m having a bad day, or even worse, they worry that I’ve lost more of my range of movement due to age or depreciation.

    When I got home, Kathrin was on the phone.  She called me over.  It was her parents.  I suggested a while ago that she introduce me to them so they can see that she is in a safe situation and not with some crazy lady running a brothel. 

    Then I napped. Boy, am I ever tired.  Is it the work, the chiropractor, did on me yesterday? Is it the grief I feel about Mike’s loss triggered by my encounter in the bank yesterday? Is it lack of protein? Is it the oppressive humidity we have here now because of the side effects of a tropical depression? Is it the sudden withdrawal from Hersey’s Milk Chocolate Bars with whole almonds?  I’m off them for a while.

    I wasn’t getting satisfaction from them anymore. I was downing 2 to 3 bars a night and still not feeling satisfied.  I think it is a way to judge if something is good for me or not. If I am not satisfied by a little bit but require more and more, it’s bad for me, and my body needs a rest.  Judy suggested that this withdrawal could be a problem, causing insulin fluctuations. Who knows. Too many options. The one I can fix is the lack of protein. Kathrin is planning on making eggs tonight. 

    When I woke up from my several-hour nap, I saw Elsa had pooped on the lanai rug.  Poor girl, it certainly wasn’t her fault.  Usually, I go to the bathroom more frequently, and she will come and ask to go out of the bathroom door to the back yard.  I apologized for putting her in such a difficult position. Then to clean it up.  After I picked up the bulk of it, I went to work with my Rainbow vacuum cleaner. I poured water on the spot and sucked it up with the vacuum. I did that over and over until the spot looked clean and relatively dry.  In my experience, by the time I’m through with this procedure, the spot I’ve cleaned is the cleanest on the rug

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

    I believe there are several reasons people become addicted to chemicals.  Because of the opiate crisis, we know that it doesn’t always start as a pursuit of pleasure, keeping up while chugging with friends, or the avoidance of some physical pain. Some people use chemicals to self-medicate and avoid facing their disappointments with themselves and their lives. 

    Getting free from the grip of that addiction is a challenge.  There are two critical factors in making any changes in ourselves.  First, setting a goal, and second, having the means for achieving that goal: the what and the how. I am wondering how many of these folks only have the goal of freeing themselves from the addiction.  If that’s the goal, then they have to choose between their suffering with the addiction and their suffering without it. 

    Without the numbing effect of chemical addiction, they have to deal with pain,  shame, and disappointments.  With the addiction, they have to deal with the disappointment in themselves for not controlling themselves and the consequential shame.  If those are the only two choices, I can understand why addicts stick with their addiction.  At least with the addiction, there are moments when they are numbed to the pain.  Without the benefit of the chemicals, they have to face the pain and shame 24/7.  These folks don’t see a third option: being relatively free of suffering without chemicals.  How do you convince people that there is a third alternative?  How do you convince people they can survive exploring this third alternative?  It does mean facing something they would rather not about themselves. It’s a tough call if they can’t imagine dealing with hidden feelings without being destroyed by them.

Monday, July 8, 2019

    I didn't do any writing yesterday. I woke up, and 8 am when the alarm went off and was still exhausted.  I went to church. When I came home from church, I was even more tired. I went down for a nap.  Why am I so tired?  Is it because going to church reminds me of Mike, who should assist the priest, read the gospel, and give the homily? Am I that tired because I don't feel connected to the church, and the incongruence exhausts me?  Am I exhausted because I tire myself out all week, and Sunday is a day to collapse?  Who knows?

    I petitioned heaven when I was there for My Mike.  If anyone deserves the best accommodations, he does.

    I went to Gertrude's Jazz Bar last night with Katrine.  Yvette and Scott joined us when they could.  The performer was lovely, reminded me of Nora Jones, but I found her style monotonous.  I have never been to a concert with only one performer since Mike took me to one in the village in the 70s.  He had seen this group when he went with some colleagues in Albany and bought their album.  I don't know if their performance was varied, or I was familiar with their work and knew each song individually. What was great about my evening out tonight was the location of Gertrude's itself.  Like many restaurants in Hawaii, it is open-air with a view of the ocean and ocean breezes to soothe us.  Just sitting there was good enough for me. 

    Today was a busy, busy day. Bikram, home to eat breakfast and do some weeding, shower and off to the chiropractor, and then to the bank.

    I had a check from the credit card company for unclaimed bonus points on Mike's credit card made out to the Estate of Michael David Ross. I had a problem depositing it. If I had anticipated it,  I could have brought the will in with me when I went to the bank and shown them the trust, but I forgot that I had it in the car.  The bank teller checked with a higher up, and they accepted the check for deposit. Done. 

    I flashed Mike's driver's license while at the bank, thinking that would give me more credibility. I kissed his sweet face. It's one of the better pictures of him that I have readily available- for now. When Damon comes over Christmas, we're going to set up a picture gallery in his open closet area.  I will have plenty of pictures to remember him by.  I will see him not just serious but also laughing with family and friends. 

    For the most part, I don't 'miss' him. My life goes on; I find satisfaction. It's only at moments that I miss loving him. My heart swells with the memory.  I let it in, and then go on. Feeling that love for him was a nice respite. 

    After the bank, I was off to Office Max to Xerox all the documents that Damon will need upon my death, all the original signed and notarized sheets, all the documents showing where the money is hidden. It occurs to me that I should make a set of copies for Karin too, and get Damon to tell her where he has the originals. When I got home, I did some work cataloging books.  I am almost finished. It thought I would be finished by Sunday,  but it will probably be by Tuesday.

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

    In my last post, I wrote about how religions inform us about the human condition.  In that entry, I wrote about how the changes in religions over the centuries tell us of the changes in societies' social structure.

     The need to love and be loved is addressed by religious worship.  I know Christianity emphasizes the love of Jesus for us. I don't know if other religions speak about God loving us and comforting us,  but all religions talk about the need for us to worship, love, and adore God.  Some think why would I worship a God that needs or even responds to worship?  But I see it as providing an outlet for one of our most basic needs: the need to love, yes, even more than we need to be loved.

    Victor Frankel found his psychological freedom in a concentration camp through love.  He focused on his love for his wife.  He wasn't even sure she was still alive, but he focused on sending her love.  He found that doing this changed his frame of mind.  He could be a loving person, even in the midst of severe deprivation and the constant threat of death.

    Loving others unconditionally isn't easy for any of us.  We are born with the capacity to be annoyed and distressed when we don't get what we want, particularly from other human beings. But God, hmm, we can love God unconditionally excepting that everything He does is the best for us, even if we don't get it why it would be.  

    When I was in Oahu during Mike's hospitalization, I stayed at a Krishna Ashram.  They spoke of serving the deities.  They bathed, dressed, and fed statues every day.  In the Abrahamic tradition, this sounds bizarre.  However, as I was attending to Mike, I could feel my love for him grow.   Caring for someone, or in the case of Krishna's something (a statue), lovingly, is a wonderful experience.  It nurtures our loving nature.  And boy, does that ever feel good.  So much better than drugs.  This loving life is what I miss with Mike.      We would express our love for each other every day just because it felt good. 

            It's interesting, I consider expressing love for another is a gift to that person, but there are cultures where what is not expressed shows love.  My guess is it means you keep your complaints to yourself.  I guess you don't express the positive because it can open Pandora's box to all emotions, negative as well as positive. You don't want a world where negative emotions flow freely.  However, neither do I want to live in a world where positive emotions can never be expressed as long as the negative ones do not outnumber them.

    There were things about Mike he needed to change, just as there was and is about me.  I found that I would know when to say something, start complaining even when they became more annoying.  This worked for me.  It works in my teaching too.  I don't correct a student or use a teaching approach I know until it comes to mind.  It is at that point that it is appropriate to introduce it.  Before then, the student isn't ready to use that information or approach. But this assumes that I am centered enough to make a decision born out of concern for the other person instead of one guided by my fear about something or another.

     I admit I am not very good with people who genuinely believe that the way they are is immutable; they cannot change because that is the way they are.  Heaven, preserve me from those people.  Yuck! There is no narrow way with people like that.  Living with them is like participating in a carnival bumper car ride; the fun of that is limited.

Saturday, July 7, 2019

    Woke up one minute before the alarm went off at 7. I was still tired, despite having gone to bed early.  While walking Elsa, I pushed my right hip further back and over to the left using my right psoas muscle.  It challenges the groin and hip muscles in the left hip.  I’m working on the theory that those muscles are compromised because of poor alignment, which caused atrophy of the muscles and dehydration of the connective tissue, rather than the lack of cartilage in the hip.  So far, so good.

    While in savasana, I had the image that Mike needed me to petition the guards of heaven so he could get in.  I will storm those gates. This man was as wonderful as any human being could be.  I know everyone is going to think of their idea of a perfect partner as  I describe Mike.  Probably not. He could be as annoying and disappointing as any other human being.  It’s just that most of the ways he was annoying didn’t push my buttons, and I deeply appreciated the things that were delightful about him. I will start arguing with St. Peter if he is indeed the ones guarding those Pearly Gates.  Either way, I can file a pretty convincing petition about his merits and entitlement to the best that any afterlife has to offer.  I want the best for Michael.

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

    Brooks talks about how religious beliefs teach us about the human condition.  I agree; our religious beliefs and teaching tell us a lot about ourselves.  I believe we create religions to address our needs.  Saying this does not mean I’m arguing for or against the existence of God. I could say that we create God or that God created us so we would develop these beliefs.  I don’t believe that any one religion is the correct one.  If there is a God, I prefer thinking that He/She is so generous to offer all these ways of connecting with Him/Her.  

    Mike’s book includes a lot about the need to return to the sacred and not be seduced by the secular.  I’ve been thinking about the difference between pagan religions and those that speak of one God.  (I’m do not hold myself up as an expert on world religions.  If I say something wrong about what some religion advocates, please let me know. Do not offer an opinion that one belief system is superior to another.)

    I think that the pagan religions represented the deities as more powerful, magical even, human beings.  With the belief in one God, religious views became more abstract, less modeled after human beings. As societies became more materially secure and more diverse, it was necessary to develop systems governing behavior that was more abstract so people from different cultural groups could relate to it.

    Before that, there was no difference between the secular and the sacred in society.  Everything was secular, having to do with the community, and everything was sacred, having to do with powers greater than human, implicitly if not explicitly.  There was no need to speak of how the secular and the sacred differed.  The term sacred and secular probably had no place in anyone’s vocabulary until diverse cultural groups lived side-by-side with different values and different ways of doing things.  Since they either didn’t share a religion or each group had their variation on the same faith, the need to develop secular rules of behavior arose. Following that, the development of religions with more abstract deities, less human, developed.  All the world’s great religions I know of believe in one God, or some Oversoul.

    The various representation of God, or even no God as in Buddhism, is an undefined something that is greater than whatever it means to be human. All these religions have some sense that God is vast, much greater than any individual or group of individuals. 

    People talk about how to bring the sacred back into our lives.  This is the great challenge of the 21st century.  How do we bring it back without creating tribalism, without denigrating the ‘others,’ those who are not just like?  Ah, there’s the rub — poor us. We yearn to belong to something larger than ourselves, and yet we fear both losing our individualism or fear the development of ethnocentric tribalism.     

Saturday, July 6, 2019

    I stopped off at Safeway to pick up a whole grain baguette, one of my dinner mainstays.  There was none on the shelf.  I asked one of the workers, and  I walked out with one that was still warm.  Hmm! Then I went to Costco to get air in my tires; the warning light was on.  I pulled up in front of the open bays and sat and sat and sat.  I must have waited a good 5 minutes.  My east coast temperament was saying, "Don't just sit there. Get out and find someone. Ask them what's going on." I had to remind myself that this was Hawaii, and I wasn't in a hurry.  Eventually, someone came out and asked me if I wanted air. Yep! By the time I left, there were two cars lined up behind me.
    I was tired when I got home. Too tired to work on the blog.  I played FreeCell for awhile. After that, I started the washing machine with today's Bikram stuff for Scott and me, and whatever extra laundry Katrin and I had.
    I was rereading the early entries in the blog yesterday to edit them for going online. I came across an incident when Mike was in the ICU for the first time when a nurse told him to relax and stop thinking.  I blew up. I consider that a cruel thing to say to someone even when they are not as incapacitated and vulnerable as Mike was at that moment.  It has taken me years of training to silence my mind and calm it when it gets worked up.  Mike had no such training.  I asked her if she could do it; she said yes.  She said she could see he was the type of person who thought too much.  I have no idea how she got that idea from a man who was flat on his back with tubes going in and out of him and drugged,  unable to communicate with anyone.  Maybe she was psychic and picked up that Mike was worried about himself and me. I guess people who are not intellectuals don't do that. Really??  A better solution would have been to tell him what to do or sing a lovely soothing song, something positive instead of instructions not to do something. I wish I had reported her.
    On the other hand, Mike's response was to ask for the notebook so he could write something.  He wrote, "Be gentle." I still prefer the idea of ripping her a new one.

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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 how they are being mistreated.
    When I got together with 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 child's presence would ruin our lives.  I can see that she might think that from what she has observed in the second marriage to some of her friends.
    I would never, and I mean never, have stayed with a man who abandoned his child. And I mean never.  Second place, 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. Then 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 made a commitment to that child through my commitment to Mike.  I wouldn't have had it any other way.
    Fortunately, 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.
    My ability to empathize with Damon and even Jean's point of view has netted me a great reward.

 
   

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. 

-    - - - - - - - 

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.