Christmas is a hard one.
Part of it for me is that it was always a time that I felt disenfranchised due to not being mainstream in religion or culture. Christmas was always low key, and How it Went was small gifts, dinner with my parents, and quiet time reading books and talking. Now that Dad is gone what went before is no longer there. It is one of the times I deeply miss my uncles, and especially miss my dad. One of the tasks of loss is to find a new set of How It Goes.
I know that for the next years part of How It Goes involves making this time one of comfort and joy for Mom and me as well. The question I keep asking myself is how do I want this to be, What do I want for me? and how do I want to remember this part of Mom's life, how do I want to remember being me?
Mom and I are beginning to instigate some new traditions. Last year we went out looking at the Christmas lights We enjoyed it so much that this year we did it again and so part of the new paradigm of How It Goes is that after dinner on Christmas Eve we ride around and look at the lights.
This year I added a thing that after the lights, I read at least a part of my favorite Christmas book, A Child's Christmas In Wales. We got to the part about the postman and the presents before Mom was too tired to concentrate. We read the rest after the Christmas Brunch the next day.
There needs to be something to look forwards to in the morning, so next year (if there is one) I am going to instigate stockings. After that I went back up to home and went out to the Holidance. It is the best thing I know of for what to do on a day where nothing is open and nothing is supposed to happen. An evening dancing off the meal you ate and overate during, looks like just what I like.
Slowly a new How It Goes is getting put together.
It looks like the rest of my life, under construction but liveable.
Friday, December 26, 2014
Saturday, December 13, 2014
Truffling about among the discs and the lessons learned.
The task of the month is to get Mr Footless's incredible selection of Vinyl down to the good stuff so that if there is salable good stuff it can be sold. This has a two ton emotional load riding on it, and I have been avoiding it for the better part of a year.
Well, closing down my office has been a tipping point for starting this. Now I need the space taken up by the boxes.
I had a really hard time even going down to the basement. When I actually gathered my courage and went down there I counted the boxes and was nearly floored. What I was looking at was thirty two boxes of unsorted vinyl which I had been assured had some very valuable pieces in it. How on earth was I going to find those bits among the boxes I had no idea.
Then I got a call from my Bestie. She had in mind a three way barter, and offered me the services of her housemate in return for cash off his rent. So suddenly I had intelligent muscle with no emotional investment in the vinyl. Last week he came over and we ripped through all the boxes doing first a rough sort and then a more carefully considered sort of the collection. We sent five full boxes out to the world. We mentally labeled them WTF, Please God no you have to be kidding, OK was he drunk, stoned or constipated or any combination of the three? and If that is what made it to the album cover, what does the rest of the photo shoot look like?
By day three, we had a much thinned better categorized selection of vinyl with a big box of what might be albums with some real value in them. Both of us were much more able to assess what we were looking for, and so we went through the dead boxes once more and pulled some ten albums that might be more salable than we thought. Then I took the rest down to the local record dealer to have him do a final sort to see what we missed.
The record dealer was rootling about in them there boxes and he looks at me and says in a slightly accusing voice, "You aren't bringing me your good ones are you?
So I explained that I was bringing him the grossly unsaleable herd first, and his was the very last stop before the donation bin to see what I might have missed, and to sharpen my eye by seeing what he pulled from the dreck. He nods his head. He says, "That makes some sense, It is just that most people bring me the valuable stuff first."
I know how most people sell their stuff. It happens a lot in the Antique business, I know why not to do it. It would go like this; Joe Schmoe would bring in his piece. We would research it, and pay him a fair price for it, which would be much more than he expected. Then Joe would come in with increasingly less fine stuff and expect that we would pay him the same sort of prices. Which we would not, it was less fine stuff, more common, poorer shape, not something the market wanted. Joe Schmoe had his expectations blown way out of shape by that first sale. He got upset because in his eyes, the later stuff had the same value as the first stuff. It never does.
This record guy is in a business. He needs to make a profit, he is not going to waste space on unsalable items. I have a collection of vinyl that has huge numbers of waste of space items and some few actually worthwhile pieces.
Letting him have the last stop check through before I sent these pieces off to donation clears my deck and lets him understand that I may have more and better goodies. He pulls some things out that I might not have considered worthwhile and explains why I should look at those things, He pays me some cash and we are both pleased. He will be paying attention when I roll up with a box or two of slightly better quality, because he now understands that I know what I am doing. I have been checking his methods, his eye, his business sense, and his honesty. So far he has passed all the tests. He is someone I can do business with.
Well, closing down my office has been a tipping point for starting this. Now I need the space taken up by the boxes.
I had a really hard time even going down to the basement. When I actually gathered my courage and went down there I counted the boxes and was nearly floored. What I was looking at was thirty two boxes of unsorted vinyl which I had been assured had some very valuable pieces in it. How on earth was I going to find those bits among the boxes I had no idea.
Then I got a call from my Bestie. She had in mind a three way barter, and offered me the services of her housemate in return for cash off his rent. So suddenly I had intelligent muscle with no emotional investment in the vinyl. Last week he came over and we ripped through all the boxes doing first a rough sort and then a more carefully considered sort of the collection. We sent five full boxes out to the world. We mentally labeled them WTF, Please God no you have to be kidding, OK was he drunk, stoned or constipated or any combination of the three? and If that is what made it to the album cover, what does the rest of the photo shoot look like?
By day three, we had a much thinned better categorized selection of vinyl with a big box of what might be albums with some real value in them. Both of us were much more able to assess what we were looking for, and so we went through the dead boxes once more and pulled some ten albums that might be more salable than we thought. Then I took the rest down to the local record dealer to have him do a final sort to see what we missed.
The record dealer was rootling about in them there boxes and he looks at me and says in a slightly accusing voice, "You aren't bringing me your good ones are you?
So I explained that I was bringing him the grossly unsaleable herd first, and his was the very last stop before the donation bin to see what I might have missed, and to sharpen my eye by seeing what he pulled from the dreck. He nods his head. He says, "That makes some sense, It is just that most people bring me the valuable stuff first."
I know how most people sell their stuff. It happens a lot in the Antique business, I know why not to do it. It would go like this; Joe Schmoe would bring in his piece. We would research it, and pay him a fair price for it, which would be much more than he expected. Then Joe would come in with increasingly less fine stuff and expect that we would pay him the same sort of prices. Which we would not, it was less fine stuff, more common, poorer shape, not something the market wanted. Joe Schmoe had his expectations blown way out of shape by that first sale. He got upset because in his eyes, the later stuff had the same value as the first stuff. It never does.
This record guy is in a business. He needs to make a profit, he is not going to waste space on unsalable items. I have a collection of vinyl that has huge numbers of waste of space items and some few actually worthwhile pieces.
Letting him have the last stop check through before I sent these pieces off to donation clears my deck and lets him understand that I may have more and better goodies. He pulls some things out that I might not have considered worthwhile and explains why I should look at those things, He pays me some cash and we are both pleased. He will be paying attention when I roll up with a box or two of slightly better quality, because he now understands that I know what I am doing. I have been checking his methods, his eye, his business sense, and his honesty. So far he has passed all the tests. He is someone I can do business with.
Sunday, December 7, 2014
The conlusions of the clueless.
Dancers in my age range tend to treat relationships with a lot of discretion. If I am going to date another dancer I will do my best not to alert the group as a whole, or even the parts, to what I am about. Romance conducted by grownups looks more like Jane Austin than not.
Because we dance together, there are people that I have a lot more physical contact with, without having any emotional connection at all. There are dance partners that I will stand with our arms around each others waist talking and neither they or I would think anything about it. However I wouldn't think of walking hand in hand with them. Nor would I allow them to walk me to my car. It would advertise a closeness, and I am acutely aware that I will be dancing with these people for a long time and if things don't work out it can expose both parties to painful scrutiny.
The Sound Man and I have had an increasingly friendly relationship and we both agree that what we do outside of dancing stays just that. We limit the dances we partner in, and don't spend much time talking in breaks. This isn't unusual, as I said, discrete
So there is a guy. He is a very fine dancer, he teaches the lessons and has been very active in this group since its birth. He is also never been in any relationship for longer than a year, and never been married. So if you are looking for someone to flirt with he is great, he knows the rules and will not take you as having an interest other than a few minutes of hanging together. I think of him as The Loon. I like him a lot, and we hang out together during the breaks and sometimes for a bit just after the end of things.
All this background because without, the following exchange makes no sense.
After a dance The Loon and I are standing on stairs in a half hug talking about nothing and just enjoying a bit of body heat before heading out. One of the young and clueless student dancers bounces out the door and comes to a dead stop in front of us.
"Oh," she exclaims, "are you two married?!"
I can feel The Loon absolutely freeze beside me. I looked at Ms. Clueless, and just started to laugh. Then she blunders on, "Well, are you two a couple?" The Loon and I just continue to look at her because I have been robbed of any words and because he is entirely horror struck.
An older dancer calmly tells her, "You know, I have been dancing with this group for fifteen years and I still don't know who the couples are."
I would not have done more than laugh at the conclusions of the young and inexperienced. Except that at a dance a month later, another student who dances, male this time, inquired delicately of me as to what my relationship with The Loon actually was. So after giving him the set down he needed and deserved, I went into the basics of being a widow and not really interested in a relationship and bless the Loon he flirted with me.
Really now, He got all dewy eyed and terribly, terribly embarrassed. Like Ms. Clueless I think he has never seen a romance conducted by grownups.
Meanwhile my on going deepening friendship with The Sound Guy seems to have gone unnoticed and unobserved. Whew.
Because we dance together, there are people that I have a lot more physical contact with, without having any emotional connection at all. There are dance partners that I will stand with our arms around each others waist talking and neither they or I would think anything about it. However I wouldn't think of walking hand in hand with them. Nor would I allow them to walk me to my car. It would advertise a closeness, and I am acutely aware that I will be dancing with these people for a long time and if things don't work out it can expose both parties to painful scrutiny.
The Sound Man and I have had an increasingly friendly relationship and we both agree that what we do outside of dancing stays just that. We limit the dances we partner in, and don't spend much time talking in breaks. This isn't unusual, as I said, discrete
So there is a guy. He is a very fine dancer, he teaches the lessons and has been very active in this group since its birth. He is also never been in any relationship for longer than a year, and never been married. So if you are looking for someone to flirt with he is great, he knows the rules and will not take you as having an interest other than a few minutes of hanging together. I think of him as The Loon. I like him a lot, and we hang out together during the breaks and sometimes for a bit just after the end of things.
All this background because without, the following exchange makes no sense.
After a dance The Loon and I are standing on stairs in a half hug talking about nothing and just enjoying a bit of body heat before heading out. One of the young and clueless student dancers bounces out the door and comes to a dead stop in front of us.
"Oh," she exclaims, "are you two married?!"
I can feel The Loon absolutely freeze beside me. I looked at Ms. Clueless, and just started to laugh. Then she blunders on, "Well, are you two a couple?" The Loon and I just continue to look at her because I have been robbed of any words and because he is entirely horror struck.
An older dancer calmly tells her, "You know, I have been dancing with this group for fifteen years and I still don't know who the couples are."
I would not have done more than laugh at the conclusions of the young and inexperienced. Except that at a dance a month later, another student who dances, male this time, inquired delicately of me as to what my relationship with The Loon actually was. So after giving him the set down he needed and deserved, I went into the basics of being a widow and not really interested in a relationship and bless the Loon he flirted with me.
Really now, He got all dewy eyed and terribly, terribly embarrassed. Like Ms. Clueless I think he has never seen a romance conducted by grownups.
Meanwhile my on going deepening friendship with The Sound Guy seems to have gone unnoticed and unobserved. Whew.
Monday, November 10, 2014
Friday, September 26, 2014
Eroooooom!
I have packed everything I need to go to the Harvest Moon Fest, and I am feeling a bit emotionally dizzy.
Last Friday was really hard. I ended the unpaid job much to my "employer" 's rage and upset, I waited until the last thirty minutes to tell her that I was leaving because I did not want to deal with a day of tirade. It was the first anniversary of Mr Footless's death so I was raw and thin skinned. It wasn't a fun time but I walked out with a sense of deep relief and understanding that this was the right thing for me to do whatever her opinion was.
I have been processing the actions and how I feel ever since. I find that I got some good out of it, and I am not regretting the time I spent with her, Neither do I regret walking out when the time came. I realize that I don't need someone else's point of view to give me a sense of what is true and real. Inspite of the very real manipulations that were being used, I did not buy any of them and was able to walk with very little guilt.
these are huge steps forwards for me and I am pleased that I see them.
That was Friday day. I had dinner with The Erstwhile Child and his sweet wife, It was good company for a night with a lot of emotion and a lot of sadness and loneliness. I missed Mr Footless a lot this last year between being furious at him and the mess to clean up.
So Saturday I got the cidering equipment and cooked for people, and then went to the Contra dance. Where like a fluff head which I was, due to being giddy with freedom from the job and from the first year being over, I left my fuzzy wrap at the dance hall.
Someone very nicely contacted me to say it was safe until I could pick it up and I thanked them and concentrated on getting ready for people to come over and help me cider the apple tree.
Last Friday was really hard. I ended the unpaid job much to my "employer" 's rage and upset, I waited until the last thirty minutes to tell her that I was leaving because I did not want to deal with a day of tirade. It was the first anniversary of Mr Footless's death so I was raw and thin skinned. It wasn't a fun time but I walked out with a sense of deep relief and understanding that this was the right thing for me to do whatever her opinion was.
I have been processing the actions and how I feel ever since. I find that I got some good out of it, and I am not regretting the time I spent with her, Neither do I regret walking out when the time came. I realize that I don't need someone else's point of view to give me a sense of what is true and real. Inspite of the very real manipulations that were being used, I did not buy any of them and was able to walk with very little guilt.
these are huge steps forwards for me and I am pleased that I see them.
That was Friday day. I had dinner with The Erstwhile Child and his sweet wife, It was good company for a night with a lot of emotion and a lot of sadness and loneliness. I missed Mr Footless a lot this last year between being furious at him and the mess to clean up.
So Saturday I got the cidering equipment and cooked for people, and then went to the Contra dance. Where like a fluff head which I was, due to being giddy with freedom from the job and from the first year being over, I left my fuzzy wrap at the dance hall.
Someone very nicely contacted me to say it was safe until I could pick it up and I thanked them and concentrated on getting ready for people to come over and help me cider the apple tree.
like this
We stripped the tree and made somewhere between fifteen and twenty gallons of cider with the help of friends and neighbors. Most of it went home with people but I still have several gallons left. And then.....
Sunday night my wrap came back home care of a very nice man who will be known as Sound Man.
we stayed up talking until two in the morning.
He came over Monday night and stayed late talking, Likewise Thursday he was over and we took a walk. He is kind, easy to talk to, and I don't have to explain things because he is fast on the uptake. I have a new friend.
Now it is the anniversary of the day I buried Mr Footless. I am going to a dance workshop weekend. I feel like I came a thousand miles in three days.
Sunday, September 14, 2014
Moving on towards change
This week is the last week that I will be going to my unpaid job. I gave notice last Monday. I am looking at a major rescheduling of my life. For the last two and a half years every week day I have gotten up at 4:30 in the morning to be at my friends house by 5:45 and stayed with her until 11. I did this in the name of friendship, because I was supporting her a she healed from her life and because I was in deep trauma and needed the support myself. As it is, this no longer serves her, it has become a barrier to her going forwards and it is a serious time and energy suck for me. My entire life was wrapped around the hours that I got up because I have never been an early bird, and doing this took a lot of effort and inconvenienced me mightily in terms of a social life because of the constant way I feel (Like crap) on the early schedule.
I finally concluded that I was being an obstruction in Her and my healing process because I have been waiting for her to say that she no longer needed me. I tend to step back and wait rather than moving forwards because all too often I get called "Controlling" when I take steps to go forward.
Well all too often things get stalled while I wait for other people to sort themselves out, and they have everything as they want it and aren't going to sort themselves out. When I am sure that this is the case, I then step out to do what I need to do, to the great displeasure of the people who have their fine structure uprooted.
Well this is what has happened here. So I will have another week in which I face someone that is angry with me because I am finally moving on. My job is to let go with love. If I don't do it well, I may be letting go with a lot of anger and shouting, either way I am going from the situation.
I have to. So I will.
I finally concluded that I was being an obstruction in Her and my healing process because I have been waiting for her to say that she no longer needed me. I tend to step back and wait rather than moving forwards because all too often I get called "Controlling" when I take steps to go forward.
Well all too often things get stalled while I wait for other people to sort themselves out, and they have everything as they want it and aren't going to sort themselves out. When I am sure that this is the case, I then step out to do what I need to do, to the great displeasure of the people who have their fine structure uprooted.
Well this is what has happened here. So I will have another week in which I face someone that is angry with me because I am finally moving on. My job is to let go with love. If I don't do it well, I may be letting go with a lot of anger and shouting, either way I am going from the situation.
I have to. So I will.
Friday, September 5, 2014
Saturday, August 30, 2014
Blast from the past
Insulin shock in its
varying forms was a regular in our life, and at twenty plus years of marriage I
was really skilled at recognizing various levels of problem and heading them
off. He tested glucose levels eight times a day, carried glucose tabs in his
pockets and we had a canister of them in the car as a matter of course. I could
tell by voice tone, word selection and a subtle set of body cues what his
levels were at any time, within about five points. Can you say hyper vigilant? Can you say codependent? Yup, that was me.
So the day that this went down was one that was over the top
with incident any way. There was a health fair that I was in a booth at, and my
husband came along to check out all the other booths and get any free tat that
was going. Mine was the early shift,
from 8 to 10, and then I had to get in to my office to see some clients and was
going to meet husband at a coffee shop for lunch. So busy, no time to be
checking in and keeping tabs on his blood glucose levels, he was distracted
with the fair, so you can see how this was going to go down.
I dropped him off at the coffee shop with the stated intent
of his getting some food and hanging out until I joined him for lunch. He made his way inside, and I went on to my
appointments, which ran a wee bit but not too much over the stated times. These things happen.
By the time I got back to the shop to meet my spouse things
had been out of hand for a while I guess. He told me later that he remembered
walking in but nothing past that. I
walked in to find him laid out on four chairs twitching and mumbling with two
freaked baristas and several wide eyed patrons gathered around observing his
disintegration into a medical basket case.
I was greeted with two questions. 1 .are you related to this
guy? The answer to that was yes and, 2. Is something wrong with him? The answer
to that being Hell yes, so why has no one taken steps to call an ambulance and
get things rolling? People seem to not
respond well to things outside their own experience. I stepped outside to make sure of the address
and called 911.
Now, my husband was a
regular with the EMT crews in our bailiwick. We were on a first name basis.
They knew him, knew me, and knew the drill that worked best. But I wasn’t sure
about the guys in this neighborhood. They do tend to rotate around but I was
bracing for having to get their attention and have them listen to me so that
they didn’t do some typical things that would foul up the next five days in
terms of trying to keep blood glucose level-ish. Note the ish. Also note that I was not
keeping a really tight eye on the spectators or I might have seen what was
brewing and maybe headed it off. No, I
don’t think I could have managed at that.
While I was assessing the situation and setting up how to
convey a lot of very complicated medical history to people (who tend to dismiss
perceived amateurs as having no pertinent information) really fast so no one did
something stupid, one of the wide eyed spectators had done his own observations
and drawn his own conclusions, such as they were.
Then he sprang into action.
Mr. Spectator pulls up a chair, bringing himself into range of the cane,
(not a wise choice under the best of circumstances which this wasn’t) pulls his
bible out of his pack and proceeds to speak very kindly to my husband about how
what he really needed was to bring Jesus into his life and cast out the demons
controlling him. Then he upped the
volume and repeated the statement in case my husband couldn’t hear him. With
every repetition he added more e’s to Jesus. It must be a stress thing.
Then he sat back and watched to see if there was an
effect. Apparently whatever he was
looking for didn’t happen so he begins again at a louder volume and adds in a
prayer about the mercy and healing and cast these demons tormenting this man
out Right Now… and he got his effect.
My husband picked up his cane and with great precision and
accuracy whopped him across the side of the head and knocked him off the chair.
Mr. Spectator picked himself up, picked up his bible, moved
out of cane range, and damn if he didn’t begin again, louder and with more
emotion. His eloquence could have used some work but he made up for it in
sincerity and repetition. (“Jeeeeesus
Heeeeeal this poooooor Soul….”)
By this time I can hear the sirens so I know that the
experts are going to be there momentarily so I just keep back and observe. I did not have a lot of energy to waste on
engaging an idiot. Part of me is pissed
as hell at the entire cluster fuck, part of me is noting the absolutely epic
absurdity of the situation, and part of me is deeply sad because my husband had
a wild and wooly sense of humor and he was missing this.
When the emergency crew arrived things began to happen very
fast, as I told them what was up and gave them the info they needed. Then we
got interrupted by Mr. Spectator who wanted to give them his version of a
medical report as to what was really going on.
Several times he did this. As
things progressed he got gently crowded into a corner by the muscular backs of
several fire guys who were surrounding my husband and holding things like IV
bags as they started the lines and set up the D-40. He continued to protest and try to get his
version of what was going on across to anyone who would listen. By this time I
was just really irritated with the interference and I lost my manners.
I pulled the crew
leader aside and asked if anyone there had been eating burritos or something of
that nature. He actually said that yes
one of the crew had been eating something of that sort, and was so to speak
loaded for bear.
I made a request; He blinked, nodded and said that he thought
that could be done. He quietly passed the word as to what I had asked for and
there was kind of a massive reshuffling of people around the back of things
where Mr. Spectator had been backed into.
It took about forty seconds before the guy fired his weapon. There
was a lovely, loud, long, melodious fart back in that corner, followed by
something that if it had been a color would have been olive green tingeing
towards chartreuse. It wasn’t silent but
it was absolutely deadly. I only got it
from a distance but I have smelt dead skunks that were better than that.
It spread out and up and gave us both time and distance to
do the medical things that needed doing. All you heard from Mr. Spectator was
coughing and sputtering.
At this point the glucose took hold and my husband came up
to the surface, looked at the selection of expert faces surrounding him and
made his comment on the entire situation. “Oh, fuck.” He said.
After that things settled down pretty rapidly, my husband
trundled off to the emergency room in the ambulance, I made ready to make
tracks home for some food. So guess who
takes this time to come up and lecture me on the possible reality of demonic
possession in a medical emergency? Yup,
he did. I am not going to tell you what
I said. It was entirely unbecoming of my
civilized self and not something a lady would say. At that point I wasn’t one, and I must say it
was satisfying. I have not had the opportunity
to let myself go before and I wouldn’t have known that I could string together
“self important egotistical interfering ass hole” into one grammatically
correct sentence, and then enlarge on the theme.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Wait, what?
This is hard to write. I just don't quite know what to think about this, but I have to set it down somewhere.
All of my adult life I have worked towards a goal. I aimed at being a complementary care healer, and every piece of energy that I could put in that direction I did. It was the articulated goal of both Mr Footless and I.
Over time I have gathered a huge tool box of skills and experience all aimed at the one thing. to be that healing person who could help with pain and restriction and make life better and more liveable for people who were struggling.
I have been in some very strange and wonderful places. I have worked for over thirty years to get here. But here isn't where I want to be.
I am just so tired. Two years ago a social worker told me that I was experiencing severe caregiver burnout. I thought that it was just the mess that my marriage had degenerated into, and I had no choice about working and the responsibilities so I kept on keeping on.
Well it is eleven months in to letting go of Mr Footless, cleaning up the mess, and looking at what I was doing and what I really want. Over time I have let go of clients that needed things I could not give them, I have tried to focus on getting the incredible phantasmagorical mess cleared and tried to see if I had any heart to continue on this path.
Here is what I know right now. I have to stop. I don't want to do this for now. I am too tired, I am worn out and the idea of being responsible for a houseplant is too much to contemplate.
So what the hell am I doing taking on the well being of people?
This is damn depressing to talk about,
Tomorrow I will be walking into the work force center to see what I can find out about what to do next. All I can think about right now is that I am so tired, I don't want to reach out to anyone or to help anyone. I just want to be left alone to rest for a while.
All of my adult life I have worked towards a goal. I aimed at being a complementary care healer, and every piece of energy that I could put in that direction I did. It was the articulated goal of both Mr Footless and I.
Over time I have gathered a huge tool box of skills and experience all aimed at the one thing. to be that healing person who could help with pain and restriction and make life better and more liveable for people who were struggling.
I have been in some very strange and wonderful places. I have worked for over thirty years to get here. But here isn't where I want to be.
I am just so tired. Two years ago a social worker told me that I was experiencing severe caregiver burnout. I thought that it was just the mess that my marriage had degenerated into, and I had no choice about working and the responsibilities so I kept on keeping on.
Well it is eleven months in to letting go of Mr Footless, cleaning up the mess, and looking at what I was doing and what I really want. Over time I have let go of clients that needed things I could not give them, I have tried to focus on getting the incredible phantasmagorical mess cleared and tried to see if I had any heart to continue on this path.
Here is what I know right now. I have to stop. I don't want to do this for now. I am too tired, I am worn out and the idea of being responsible for a houseplant is too much to contemplate.
So what the hell am I doing taking on the well being of people?
This is damn depressing to talk about,
Tomorrow I will be walking into the work force center to see what I can find out about what to do next. All I can think about right now is that I am so tired, I don't want to reach out to anyone or to help anyone. I just want to be left alone to rest for a while.
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
In which I am gobsmacked
I just got a call from one of my good friends. She was digging up her weed laden verge strip to make it into something more sightly when she found a ring. a gold ring with an amethyst and two tiny diamond chips. It was rather unusual in that it had another gold band next to it. She found my wedding set. I have looked and looked and looked for it. It disappeared the night that Mr Footless died, and I have felt the loss a lot. I am just stunned that it has turned up and that it turned up there.
I loved that ring. I loved what it meant to me and to us, that we had gotten married in spite of all the all the pain, the loss and sadness and the longing we had to be together. We did it. We stayed with it, and for much of it we were happy. It has been a long tough road these last two years, and I am glad that I have something back that has been lost for so long.
I loved that ring. I loved what it meant to me and to us, that we had gotten married in spite of all the all the pain, the loss and sadness and the longing we had to be together. We did it. We stayed with it, and for much of it we were happy. It has been a long tough road these last two years, and I am glad that I have something back that has been lost for so long.
Monday, August 18, 2014
updating and heading on
Among the things that has really bothered me is having pictures on the phone that I couldn't figure out how to upload to my computer. Thanks to the erstwhile child I now know what one of the files is the one with my pictures, I am now able to put some of the better explanatory ones up to be seen.
here then are some of the getting the house together pictures. This is what I have been doing if you were wondering, with a whole lot of help from so many good people.
 |
| the pile from the back came to the front |
 |
| things got thrown away, and thrown away and thrown away, 72 cubic yards of thrown away |
 |
| junk got sorted, and sorted and sorted |
 |
| and sorted and sorted and donated and sorted and.... |
 | ||||||||
| cabinets got remade and replaced in a better way |
 |
| laminate happened upstairs first. I got the hang of saws here. |
 |
| The overhead cabinet came down |
 |
| Then it left. See that thing in the right hand upper corner? |
 |
| There it is in the place that I wanted it for years. |
Thank you also for giving me the time, space and strength to do much of it as I could myself.
Please bear in mind that much of the work including the laminate and the cabinet rebuilding were done by me with done with minor help for lifting the other end of something like a counter. One of the things that I love is that I used to be the one who handed the saw over. Now they are all my saws.
Again, thank you from the bottom of my heart. .
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Mother's Day
Here is a holiday that reeks of commercialism. Buy a card, buy flowers, take mom to a restaurant for a day, Honor Mothers. My feelings are mixed. My children are grown and have other things that they are occupied doing as do I.
My own Mom decided that my staying safe was more important than my attending the brunch at Camp Stuffy, and since it is slushing slop I am best pleased to be here rather than on the roads. I miss my kids, I miss my mom. I miss the ones that are elsewhere and the ones that are in the midst of being singularly displeased with me as they heal from growing up.
So during the day while I do the laundry, cook a bit ahead, sew on a project and get ready for the next week,
To the Erstwhile Child, to the swordsman, to my Stepdaughter who will be the death of me someday, to the daughter in law soon to be, to my own Mom. thank you for being mine, I love you.
My own Mom decided that my staying safe was more important than my attending the brunch at Camp Stuffy, and since it is slushing slop I am best pleased to be here rather than on the roads. I miss my kids, I miss my mom. I miss the ones that are elsewhere and the ones that are in the midst of being singularly displeased with me as they heal from growing up.
So during the day while I do the laundry, cook a bit ahead, sew on a project and get ready for the next week,
To the Erstwhile Child, to the swordsman, to my Stepdaughter who will be the death of me someday, to the daughter in law soon to be, to my own Mom. thank you for being mine, I love you.
Monday, April 28, 2014
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
