So, Saturday night was my first Meetup with the Houston Widows and Widowers group. At a local Mexican chain-restaurant. A good excuse to have an alcoholic drink and snarf down some tortilla chips. Ninfa’s has a good red sauce, and their green sauce (guess it is probably tomatilla sauce) is great!
Seventeen (out of membership of 50-plus members) had signed up for this one. Believe that we ended up with a total of only 10.
Unfortunately, I chose tne wrong end of the table to plop down at. Sat and listened and listened and listened, as one widow merrily rattled on, oblivious to the fact that she was completely monopolizing the time and conversation. To listen to her: theirs had been the perfect marriage, they were so compatible, they had so many likes and dislikes that they shared, etc. And I gotta tell you that she was not a new widow – which some of us at this dinner were – nor was this her first Meetup with this group. We can post our impressions of the Meetup online, and another widow remarked: “The girl next to me didn't really let alot of us share things about our life and our grief. In fact, I didn't talk much about my grief at all.” And that was not the first comment about (I am sure) this same blabbermouth. From a previous meeting, I read: “One person often dominated the conversation, but maybe they needed to.” Oh, please. Once, maybe she was happy to have someone to share with. Twice, you are a pain in the ass. You are NOT the only one with loss and pain. She lost her husband two years ago. And there were women there with very VERY recent losses. I wasn’t sure that I would return to another Meetup.
However, I was able to make a bit of conversation with D, the woman seated to my left, and with J, the woman seated across the table from her. D asked, “Do you have dreams anymore?” and I paused, thinking that she meant those dreams that occur while you sleep (and which I rarely remember, although I guess I do have them). Then she explained that she was talking about plans, ideas, future things you might do. And I realized (and answered the same), “No, I don’t.” And she concurred with me on that.
When Greg died, the idea of fun, retirement plans, future trips, etc., died with him. The joy or potential for joy seemed to die, too. We had hopes, ideas, dreams. Wanted to go back to Europe, since our one and only visit there back in 1996 had been so much fun. Thought we could drive to various places in the U.S., visiting friends and acquaintances along the way. And now? Now I guess it’s either go alone (hoo boy – what great fun that would be), travel with another woman (my friends are all paired off), or live vicariously through another’s dreams and travels. Damn. Damn, damn, damn. The dreams go… and they are replaced with loneliness, lots of “to do’s” that you can’t share with anyone else, meals eaten alone, and too many tears that you shed behind closed doors.
What a crappy sorority that I didn’t want to join. But did. And can’t opt out of.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Return to Houston
I have been in MN for many days - the 17th thru the 28th. Many firsts, such as travelling solo for the first time in several years (although Greg and I were not joined at the hip). It was strange to look at the occupied seat next to me and think that that was Greg's place until his death changed all those plans - changed all MY plans.
It was a bit strained, to see family that I had not seen yet. Most knew of Greg's death, but apparently I missed notifying one branch. They crawled all over themselves, apologizing, but hey, how would they have known? Three of the cousins in my age bracket are widows, including myself, my sis and cousin Lynn. Lynn's husband was the same age as Greg was when he died. The weather was good, expected MN summer weather. Of course, that was cool for me when I first got there, but I eventually got a little bit acclimated.
I brought Greg's ashes with me in the carryon bag. I was told by the funeral home that I had to personally carry this rather than in checked baggage, and I would have felt pretty bad if he had been in a bag that ended up lost (or worse yet, stolen by the nefarious baggage handlers/thieves). But wouldn't they have been surprised?! I am still uncertain about what to do with the ashes, but I'm leaning towards the same Duluth cemetery where my sister's husband is buried and where my dad's older brother and his wife are interred, too. Until then, my mother volunteered to store the box on a shelf in her apartment. I amused her by commenting that "the poor man will have to spend months alone with his mother-in-law". Anyway, I was touched by her offer.
A high-school friend suggested that I could place some of the ashes in jewelry, so I hunted out a couple of web jewelry-sellers. And yes, folks, there are those who specialize in this kind of product. I found a tasteful pendant with a very tiny opening into which you place the "ashes", then put superglue on the opening and screw the top onto the pendant. "Ashes" is really a mis-description, since I discovered that they are really more like coarse sand. That helps to define the weight that I toted - over 10 pounds - in the carryon.
This was one family reunion where I did NOT take one photo. Greg had always graciously snapped so many group shots, and I just could not bring myself to "replace" him in that capacity yet. Maybe the next time. I missed him so much, at so many times and for expected and unexpected reasons.
Still, I saw some cousins I hadn't seen for many years. And I am kinda nudging some of them to update their family dates - marriages, births, divorces, deaths. I do not care if someone "had" to get married, or if they had a child out of wedlock, or even if they have had 3 or more spouses. This is just for the record, folks. So I think that we are living in a more open-minded society and maybe I will get better cooperation out of this (my) generation than possibly from the earlier one.
My sis's boyfriend of a few months met the family at this reunion. I think it went pretty well. They seem well-matched and happy. I feel like I have (at least temporarily) lost her. Kind of wrapped-up in each other and she usually does not return my phone calls. And I do not bother e-mailing her, since she rarely stops at home to check her pc for anything. They are sort of teenage-ish in their relationship right now (but free to have sex and not pretend that they are NOT). I hope it all works out for them. But I do miss her.
Mom did not cook while I was staying with her, other than the boiled dinner that she had prepared ahead of time. A couple of bowls of that were, however, enough for me. She had had her teeth pulled (uppers?) recently, so she turned to soup while we ate meals at some of the local cafes. There are a couple of little eateries in the town (pop. of 800+) where I was raised, so for lunch, I too enjoyed some homemade soup. She had a chicken-wild rice and I had a mushroom soup - portobellas! - both of which I thought were a tad salty. But then, since I do NOT add salt to my cooking, my taste buds may be a little more sensitive to that. Then we had split pea and ham soup at the local truck stop. Surprisingly NOT salty, and very tasty and loaded with ham. Could not get over the bargain prices. Most times we each got a bowl and iced tea, and the total was only about $10 or less for both meals.
My sister turned 59 on the 22nd, so we celebrated with a meal at the Applebee's in the next town. Sis, boyfriend, Mom, me, and sis's girlfriend and her husband. The girlfriend happens to be the younger sister of the boyfriend. Maybe the girlfriend has better luck, talking with my sis. Ya think?
Anyway, I am going on and on and no one is being entertained by this. I'll probably expound on part 2 of my stay - in the Twin Cities - in another post.
I have been reading some blogs written by other widowed folks (male and female) and like this woman's - maybe because she is a Texas-based blogger. Like me, she really misses her husband and tries to go on. Sometimes she's funny, sometimes poignant. I like her web page and she also has posted the lyrics from Garth Brooks' song, "The Dance". Check her out: One Breath at a Time - if you feel like it.
And now I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end, the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance - I could have missed the pain
But I'd of had to miss the dance.
It was a bit strained, to see family that I had not seen yet. Most knew of Greg's death, but apparently I missed notifying one branch. They crawled all over themselves, apologizing, but hey, how would they have known? Three of the cousins in my age bracket are widows, including myself, my sis and cousin Lynn. Lynn's husband was the same age as Greg was when he died. The weather was good, expected MN summer weather. Of course, that was cool for me when I first got there, but I eventually got a little bit acclimated.
I brought Greg's ashes with me in the carryon bag. I was told by the funeral home that I had to personally carry this rather than in checked baggage, and I would have felt pretty bad if he had been in a bag that ended up lost (or worse yet, stolen by the nefarious baggage handlers/thieves). But wouldn't they have been surprised?! I am still uncertain about what to do with the ashes, but I'm leaning towards the same Duluth cemetery where my sister's husband is buried and where my dad's older brother and his wife are interred, too. Until then, my mother volunteered to store the box on a shelf in her apartment. I amused her by commenting that "the poor man will have to spend months alone with his mother-in-law". Anyway, I was touched by her offer.
A high-school friend suggested that I could place some of the ashes in jewelry, so I hunted out a couple of web jewelry-sellers. And yes, folks, there are those who specialize in this kind of product. I found a tasteful pendant with a very tiny opening into which you place the "ashes", then put superglue on the opening and screw the top onto the pendant. "Ashes" is really a mis-description, since I discovered that they are really more like coarse sand. That helps to define the weight that I toted - over 10 pounds - in the carryon.
This was one family reunion where I did NOT take one photo. Greg had always graciously snapped so many group shots, and I just could not bring myself to "replace" him in that capacity yet. Maybe the next time. I missed him so much, at so many times and for expected and unexpected reasons.
Still, I saw some cousins I hadn't seen for many years. And I am kinda nudging some of them to update their family dates - marriages, births, divorces, deaths. I do not care if someone "had" to get married, or if they had a child out of wedlock, or even if they have had 3 or more spouses. This is just for the record, folks. So I think that we are living in a more open-minded society and maybe I will get better cooperation out of this (my) generation than possibly from the earlier one.
My sis's boyfriend of a few months met the family at this reunion. I think it went pretty well. They seem well-matched and happy. I feel like I have (at least temporarily) lost her. Kind of wrapped-up in each other and she usually does not return my phone calls. And I do not bother e-mailing her, since she rarely stops at home to check her pc for anything. They are sort of teenage-ish in their relationship right now (but free to have sex and not pretend that they are NOT). I hope it all works out for them. But I do miss her.
Mom did not cook while I was staying with her, other than the boiled dinner that she had prepared ahead of time. A couple of bowls of that were, however, enough for me. She had had her teeth pulled (uppers?) recently, so she turned to soup while we ate meals at some of the local cafes. There are a couple of little eateries in the town (pop. of 800+) where I was raised, so for lunch, I too enjoyed some homemade soup. She had a chicken-wild rice and I had a mushroom soup - portobellas! - both of which I thought were a tad salty. But then, since I do NOT add salt to my cooking, my taste buds may be a little more sensitive to that. Then we had split pea and ham soup at the local truck stop. Surprisingly NOT salty, and very tasty and loaded with ham. Could not get over the bargain prices. Most times we each got a bowl and iced tea, and the total was only about $10 or less for both meals.
My sister turned 59 on the 22nd, so we celebrated with a meal at the Applebee's in the next town. Sis, boyfriend, Mom, me, and sis's girlfriend and her husband. The girlfriend happens to be the younger sister of the boyfriend. Maybe the girlfriend has better luck, talking with my sis. Ya think?
Anyway, I am going on and on and no one is being entertained by this. I'll probably expound on part 2 of my stay - in the Twin Cities - in another post.
I have been reading some blogs written by other widowed folks (male and female) and like this woman's - maybe because she is a Texas-based blogger. Like me, she really misses her husband and tries to go on. Sometimes she's funny, sometimes poignant. I like her web page and she also has posted the lyrics from Garth Brooks' song, "The Dance". Check her out: One Breath at a Time - if you feel like it.
And now I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end, the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance - I could have missed the pain
But I'd of had to miss the dance.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
My birthday
Well, that dreaded birthday - my 60th - was on Monday. And I was dreading it, not because of the number, but because it was the first birthday I would mark without Greg by my side. I did my damnedest to keep my mind occupied, and that did seem to work. For that day, anyway. I attended a fun, family-friendly Fourth party on Friday, and a wedding on Saturday. I had carefully planned to be at the home of two very good and dear friends for most of that weekend. So I woke up on the 7th at their home. They even had a gift for me, good people that they are! In the morning we worked on some projects at their place - they are readying a backdrop to bring to a Las Vegas trade show in a few weeks.
At mid-day, we drove into San Marcos, looking for some additional things for the trade booth. We took two cars, so that I could continue on back to Houston after lunch. After the brief shopping, we ate at the River Pub (or some similar name). Well known for a good spot on the river so you can watch the tubers frollicking (sp?) around, and the burgers, fries and Shiner Bock were also good! They then headed for home, while I went to the Outlet Mall and shopped for a carryon bag that would be big enough for my personal stuff plus the box that holds Greg's ashes. I don't know if he would approve being transported in a bag whose color is labeled as raspberry, but maybe he will see the humor in it.
So I didn't get in the door at my house until close to 6 pm. Unloaded the car, etc., and then the phone started ringing. (And I also had several "happy birthday" messages from friends and family on the answering machine.) By the time I hung up with the last caller, it was about 9 pm. I rounded up my stuff for work the next day - cobbled together something for lunch - and went to brush my teeth. And then it hit me. We always stood side-by-side at the dual sinks and brushed away, and the one who finished first would grab the mouthwash under the cabinet, set it on the countertop and uncap it. I saw his toothbrush in the holder - the one I can't bring myself to throw away yet - and whispered, "You should be here," and I teared right up. Just like I am doing now, while trying to relate my actions and emotions on that day. So, yeah, I nearly got through that day sans tears. Oh, well.
I have located some other good blogs by widows (and a good one by a widower). Some are around my age, and the guy who blogs lost his wife - when he was only in his early 30's - and he's raising a 4-year-old alone (wife died about 2 years ago). I also went poking around for a support group. There is one that meets monthly somewhere in the general Houston area. So I joined that one - I'll miss the July meeting/meal, but hope I can make the August one. The thing I read over and over again is how much advice is given by those who have not walked in our footsteps ("our" being widows/widowers). I thought I was the only one who felt like this - but it seems to be a universal complaint made by so many grieving folks. I am anxious to try this group and exchange some info with them. There appears to be more women than men, but the fact that a few guys even had enough guts to join and/or show up at a meeting is encouraging. I know it is so much harder for men to talk about or share their emotions. We are in this together, and I hope these gatherings will be helpful and maybe even give me a friend in my geographic area.
I am suddenly struck by the ironic title of this blog: aka Nancy Drew. Who knew that I would end up searching for me, for myself, under all this rubble?
At mid-day, we drove into San Marcos, looking for some additional things for the trade booth. We took two cars, so that I could continue on back to Houston after lunch. After the brief shopping, we ate at the River Pub (or some similar name). Well known for a good spot on the river so you can watch the tubers frollicking (sp?) around, and the burgers, fries and Shiner Bock were also good! They then headed for home, while I went to the Outlet Mall and shopped for a carryon bag that would be big enough for my personal stuff plus the box that holds Greg's ashes. I don't know if he would approve being transported in a bag whose color is labeled as raspberry, but maybe he will see the humor in it.
So I didn't get in the door at my house until close to 6 pm. Unloaded the car, etc., and then the phone started ringing. (And I also had several "happy birthday" messages from friends and family on the answering machine.) By the time I hung up with the last caller, it was about 9 pm. I rounded up my stuff for work the next day - cobbled together something for lunch - and went to brush my teeth. And then it hit me. We always stood side-by-side at the dual sinks and brushed away, and the one who finished first would grab the mouthwash under the cabinet, set it on the countertop and uncap it. I saw his toothbrush in the holder - the one I can't bring myself to throw away yet - and whispered, "You should be here," and I teared right up. Just like I am doing now, while trying to relate my actions and emotions on that day. So, yeah, I nearly got through that day sans tears. Oh, well.
I have located some other good blogs by widows (and a good one by a widower). Some are around my age, and the guy who blogs lost his wife - when he was only in his early 30's - and he's raising a 4-year-old alone (wife died about 2 years ago). I also went poking around for a support group. There is one that meets monthly somewhere in the general Houston area. So I joined that one - I'll miss the July meeting/meal, but hope I can make the August one. The thing I read over and over again is how much advice is given by those who have not walked in our footsteps ("our" being widows/widowers). I thought I was the only one who felt like this - but it seems to be a universal complaint made by so many grieving folks. I am anxious to try this group and exchange some info with them. There appears to be more women than men, but the fact that a few guys even had enough guts to join and/or show up at a meeting is encouraging. I know it is so much harder for men to talk about or share their emotions. We are in this together, and I hope these gatherings will be helpful and maybe even give me a friend in my geographic area.
I am suddenly struck by the ironic title of this blog: aka Nancy Drew. Who knew that I would end up searching for me, for myself, under all this rubble?
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
My relationship with Greg
A friend from my high-school years e-mailed: "There is, still, some curiosity toward what about the man contributed to the depth of relationship you two shared."
And I replied:
I don’t know if that comment was only from you or from others, but it made me think. I guess what happened is that we were kind of set adrift – without family or close friends – when we decided to move to Houston. You know, many of us have long-time friends that we have had for years. Well, we still retained those friends (only the closest ones, as the years went on), but only made a few friends that we would ever grow so close to in our lifetime, here in Houston. We have both always treasured family and friends, and we had that in common.
So, anyway, in the absence of “old” friends, I guess we developed into each other’s best friends. We enjoyed a lot of the same things – browsing at antique malls, being the keepers of our family momentos/old photos/etc., listening to music – he really knew the “family trees” of old rock groups, had common political leanings, etc. I used to think we spent too much time together and would sometimes plead for a little “alone” time (little did I know that I would have more than I wanted). I loved to cook, he was very good at barbecuing, and he always assisted in the kitchen (chopping up onions and celery and other veggies is time-consuming, and he would willingly do those things). He wasn’t afraid to do laundry, wash dishes or do other mundane things that some guys will not even attempt. He was a good and fair partner and a very loving, warm, humorous guy. His sense of humor is what first attracted me to him.
I’m not trying to bestow sainthood on him, by any means. But I guess you don’t appreciate what you have – what WE had – until that is taken away from you. I don’t think I’ll see these qualities in one man, ever again. And I miss him. I miss his fairly reliable once- or twice-a-day phone calls. I can’t remember his voice, so I have to call the house to hear the message he recorded. It is so difficult, and I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.
And I replied:
I don’t know if that comment was only from you or from others, but it made me think. I guess what happened is that we were kind of set adrift – without family or close friends – when we decided to move to Houston. You know, many of us have long-time friends that we have had for years. Well, we still retained those friends (only the closest ones, as the years went on), but only made a few friends that we would ever grow so close to in our lifetime, here in Houston. We have both always treasured family and friends, and we had that in common.
So, anyway, in the absence of “old” friends, I guess we developed into each other’s best friends. We enjoyed a lot of the same things – browsing at antique malls, being the keepers of our family momentos/old photos/etc., listening to music – he really knew the “family trees” of old rock groups, had common political leanings, etc. I used to think we spent too much time together and would sometimes plead for a little “alone” time (little did I know that I would have more than I wanted). I loved to cook, he was very good at barbecuing, and he always assisted in the kitchen (chopping up onions and celery and other veggies is time-consuming, and he would willingly do those things). He wasn’t afraid to do laundry, wash dishes or do other mundane things that some guys will not even attempt. He was a good and fair partner and a very loving, warm, humorous guy. His sense of humor is what first attracted me to him.
I’m not trying to bestow sainthood on him, by any means. But I guess you don’t appreciate what you have – what WE had – until that is taken away from you. I don’t think I’ll see these qualities in one man, ever again. And I miss him. I miss his fairly reliable once- or twice-a-day phone calls. I can’t remember his voice, so I have to call the house to hear the message he recorded. It is so difficult, and I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Genealogy and death
Today I entered my husband's death date in my genealogy program. So hard to do. I inadvertently entered it under my name. But that was sort of fitting, because a part of me died that day. I hope you don't experience this yourself (loss of a spouse), because my crummy little sorority/fraternity will have grabbed another member.
I have so much to do. I must find the info on the airline tix that Greg set up back in May (I think) and double-check on the car he had leased. I did find a confirmation number with Hertz written on the same slip of paper. I suppose the airlines will also want a death certificate in order to refund this. In a little over a month I will be flying solo, except Greg's "ashes" will also go with me, in the small, but heavy, box that they put them into. I am steeling myself to open this container, because I want to remove a small portion of these to keep with me here. I still don't know what to do with his remains, so I hope to store them at my nephew's home in a Mpls. suburb until I am back living in that area.
I have been going through his summer clothes, to sort the ones that will be given to a shop which does resales for those less fortunate in their financial status. Since Houston is so hot in the summer, I have not even entertained moving other clothes along yet. I am sure that some male of larger girth (38" waist or so) will welcome a choice of some very good men's denim and dressy shorts. So something good can at least come from his unfortunate death.
I have to force myself to eat something, which is now compounded by the fact that I seem to have temporarily upset my tummy. So I was sipping on beef broth and chewing on soda crackers this morning. Unfortunately - memories of Greg on his last evening with me. He had been having digestive upsets, so I had made the beef broth and then added some soda crackers for him, too. I felt so guilty when he died that next day, since I had rather nagged at him, that he wouldn't get better if he didn't eat something. And now here I am....
I didn't go to church this morning (because of my queasy tummy) and miss seeing my elderly friends who were so supportive of me through all of this. Betty rode along with me when I drove up to the funeral home to pick up Greg's ashes, then invited me in for wine and cheese at her house. Very nice lady. Never thought my 56-year-old hubby would be the first of our dinner group to die - Betty's husband will turn 80 this year, as will another spouse in this group.
My sister said that the lessons she learned from her husband's death, were ones that she used to help my mother. And also she has helped me now, too. Don't want to dwell on all of this, but it is just hard to deal with - and you do NOT know unless you have walked in these shoes. Do not tell me that "I know what you're dealing with". I prefer the honest statement, "I can't imagine what you are going through". Or just, "I'm sorry for your loss". And a figurative hug, anyway, if you do not encounter me in person. That's all.
Need to shower. I think I am downright disgusting in personal appearance right now and must run some errands. Until later....
I have so much to do. I must find the info on the airline tix that Greg set up back in May (I think) and double-check on the car he had leased. I did find a confirmation number with Hertz written on the same slip of paper. I suppose the airlines will also want a death certificate in order to refund this. In a little over a month I will be flying solo, except Greg's "ashes" will also go with me, in the small, but heavy, box that they put them into. I am steeling myself to open this container, because I want to remove a small portion of these to keep with me here. I still don't know what to do with his remains, so I hope to store them at my nephew's home in a Mpls. suburb until I am back living in that area.
I have been going through his summer clothes, to sort the ones that will be given to a shop which does resales for those less fortunate in their financial status. Since Houston is so hot in the summer, I have not even entertained moving other clothes along yet. I am sure that some male of larger girth (38" waist or so) will welcome a choice of some very good men's denim and dressy shorts. So something good can at least come from his unfortunate death.
I have to force myself to eat something, which is now compounded by the fact that I seem to have temporarily upset my tummy. So I was sipping on beef broth and chewing on soda crackers this morning. Unfortunately - memories of Greg on his last evening with me. He had been having digestive upsets, so I had made the beef broth and then added some soda crackers for him, too. I felt so guilty when he died that next day, since I had rather nagged at him, that he wouldn't get better if he didn't eat something. And now here I am....
I didn't go to church this morning (because of my queasy tummy) and miss seeing my elderly friends who were so supportive of me through all of this. Betty rode along with me when I drove up to the funeral home to pick up Greg's ashes, then invited me in for wine and cheese at her house. Very nice lady. Never thought my 56-year-old hubby would be the first of our dinner group to die - Betty's husband will turn 80 this year, as will another spouse in this group.
My sister said that the lessons she learned from her husband's death, were ones that she used to help my mother. And also she has helped me now, too. Don't want to dwell on all of this, but it is just hard to deal with - and you do NOT know unless you have walked in these shoes. Do not tell me that "I know what you're dealing with". I prefer the honest statement, "I can't imagine what you are going through". Or just, "I'm sorry for your loss". And a figurative hug, anyway, if you do not encounter me in person. That's all.
Need to shower. I think I am downright disgusting in personal appearance right now and must run some errands. Until later....
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
How do I write this?
This is one of the most difficult blogs I have ever posted. My husband died on Thursday, and I found him when I got home. I have always referred to him as Drummer, but his name is Greg. I guess that should read "was". It is so hard to type this in. He was only 56.
His memorial service is today at 11 am. He was a truly good guy, warm and caring and always telling me that I was the best thing that ever happened to him. I never felt like that was true. I only hope that he knew how much I loved him. We did the "I love you" bit with one another, usually several times a day. Little did I know how abruptly that would end.
Family is with me now and most will fly back to their homes in MN tomorrow. I am the 3rd (and final) female in our family to be widowed - my sister 6 years ago, my mother 4 years ago, and now I enter this "sorority" and didn't want to be inducted at all. Certainly not this early.
The support and warmth that I have felt from family, friends, neighbors, old high school classmates and co-workers has been overwhelming. Truly a blessing to know them and to get their hugs and even their stunned reaction at the news.
Anyway, I don't want to get maudlin, but wanted to post this. I have been awake since around 3 am, and finally slinked into here to write this.
Guess I will brew some decaf and try to steel myself for this day. I am told it is the hardest thing I will ever do. As they say, "Put on your big girl panties and take a deep breath." Oh - and probably grab lots of kleenex.
Best wishes to all who may read this.
His memorial service is today at 11 am. He was a truly good guy, warm and caring and always telling me that I was the best thing that ever happened to him. I never felt like that was true. I only hope that he knew how much I loved him. We did the "I love you" bit with one another, usually several times a day. Little did I know how abruptly that would end.
Family is with me now and most will fly back to their homes in MN tomorrow. I am the 3rd (and final) female in our family to be widowed - my sister 6 years ago, my mother 4 years ago, and now I enter this "sorority" and didn't want to be inducted at all. Certainly not this early.
The support and warmth that I have felt from family, friends, neighbors, old high school classmates and co-workers has been overwhelming. Truly a blessing to know them and to get their hugs and even their stunned reaction at the news.
Anyway, I don't want to get maudlin, but wanted to post this. I have been awake since around 3 am, and finally slinked into here to write this.
Guess I will brew some decaf and try to steel myself for this day. I am told it is the hardest thing I will ever do. As they say, "Put on your big girl panties and take a deep breath." Oh - and probably grab lots of kleenex.
Best wishes to all who may read this.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Poor excuse - better than NO excuse?
I have turned into a poor excuse for a blogger. Never turning in my homework, so to speak. Why do today, what I can put off until tomorrow? Or as it is turning out, until next month... I had to use my web address in a contest today (love that PW!), so it sent me hurrying here to post something - ANYthing.
Inertia has grabbed hold and it ain't lettin' go. And to tell the truth, I wasn't trying to pry its little grubby fingers off my hands, either. So a good swift kick in the pants (this contest) did the trick.
Well, I don't want to waste this space by blogging about this total be-yotch that I had a run-in at work with, earlier this week. Although she certainly fits the name, I just hate devoting time to her. But here goes.
I betcha that a lot of you who tote your lunch to work in the interest of (1) eating healthier or (2) eating cheaper or (3) cleaning out your leftovers from home, have encountered a nasty 'fridge at work. Am I right or am I right? This building has several fridges and the one in this area is the oldest, smallest and nastiest. The seal around the door is shot, so now we have a nice case of mold growing on there, plus it drips condensation also because of poor seal. I wipe it off from time to time, but it keeps on a-growing back. I try to monitor the contents from time to time, and I sometimes throw out the science experiments (translation: food so old that it now is giving birth to something green/white/gray). So I did this the other day - blueberries so aged that wrinkle cream was not going to be able to help them at all. They needed collagen, I'm tellin' ya. One of the women from another dept. saw me toss 'em out. So she must have mentioned this to the previously mentioned be-yotch, who showed up in less than a minute, loudly complaining that I had no right to be going through people's lunches and throwing stuff out. I told her that these berries were sitting on the shelf in plain sight - not in someone's lunch. No matter how often I repeated this, she kept on a-bitchin'.
My blood pressure was rising, and I really didn't want to blow out an artery or anything. So I dug in the garbage can (which by now had something slimy dumped into it, over the spot where the berries were) and pulled out the container and waved it in her face. Gotta admit that my voice was beyond normal volume by now. Not to mention my hand was now slimed and I didn't want to get on my lime green suit jacket (don't criticize the color - it's a cool suit with a navy skirt). She stomped off, still complaining and now I had to really wash my hands off. Ugh. I swear, her picture must be next to the word "bitch" in the dictionary.
I know - leaves you hungrily anticipating my next blog, huh? Boy, just wait until I mention the condition of the communal microwave. I wonder if anyone looks at the insides of this thing before they nuke something? and why would someone put food in there to reheat without a cover, when the ceiling of the thing has so much crap on it that it could feed a homeless person? What does someone cook that explodes like that?
Oh, wait - I guess I blew it. That IS the condition of the microwave. Never mind.
Damn - anyone got any ideas for posting? We were always told (back in the school days when we were lucky to have access to electric typewriters and pc's were only a glimmer in Bill Gates' brain) to write about things we know best. Anyone want to read about (1) genealogy or (2) faux painting or (3) favorite recipes of mine? No? I didn't think so. Ideas, people!
Inertia has grabbed hold and it ain't lettin' go. And to tell the truth, I wasn't trying to pry its little grubby fingers off my hands, either. So a good swift kick in the pants (this contest) did the trick.
Well, I don't want to waste this space by blogging about this total be-yotch that I had a run-in at work with, earlier this week. Although she certainly fits the name, I just hate devoting time to her. But here goes.
I betcha that a lot of you who tote your lunch to work in the interest of (1) eating healthier or (2) eating cheaper or (3) cleaning out your leftovers from home, have encountered a nasty 'fridge at work. Am I right or am I right? This building has several fridges and the one in this area is the oldest, smallest and nastiest. The seal around the door is shot, so now we have a nice case of mold growing on there, plus it drips condensation also because of poor seal. I wipe it off from time to time, but it keeps on a-growing back. I try to monitor the contents from time to time, and I sometimes throw out the science experiments (translation: food so old that it now is giving birth to something green/white/gray). So I did this the other day - blueberries so aged that wrinkle cream was not going to be able to help them at all. They needed collagen, I'm tellin' ya. One of the women from another dept. saw me toss 'em out. So she must have mentioned this to the previously mentioned be-yotch, who showed up in less than a minute, loudly complaining that I had no right to be going through people's lunches and throwing stuff out. I told her that these berries were sitting on the shelf in plain sight - not in someone's lunch. No matter how often I repeated this, she kept on a-bitchin'.
My blood pressure was rising, and I really didn't want to blow out an artery or anything. So I dug in the garbage can (which by now had something slimy dumped into it, over the spot where the berries were) and pulled out the container and waved it in her face. Gotta admit that my voice was beyond normal volume by now. Not to mention my hand was now slimed and I didn't want to get on my lime green suit jacket (don't criticize the color - it's a cool suit with a navy skirt). She stomped off, still complaining and now I had to really wash my hands off. Ugh. I swear, her picture must be next to the word "bitch" in the dictionary.
I know - leaves you hungrily anticipating my next blog, huh? Boy, just wait until I mention the condition of the communal microwave. I wonder if anyone looks at the insides of this thing before they nuke something? and why would someone put food in there to reheat without a cover, when the ceiling of the thing has so much crap on it that it could feed a homeless person? What does someone cook that explodes like that?
Oh, wait - I guess I blew it. That IS the condition of the microwave. Never mind.
Damn - anyone got any ideas for posting? We were always told (back in the school days when we were lucky to have access to electric typewriters and pc's were only a glimmer in Bill Gates' brain) to write about things we know best. Anyone want to read about (1) genealogy or (2) faux painting or (3) favorite recipes of mine? No? I didn't think so. Ideas, people!
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