Staying In

Covid-19 continues to maintain its strangle hold on American life as it was once known.  We are currently on the brink of some states beginning to move toward a re-opening.  But as for me I feel safer here at home.  I'm putting my money and my health on science and data.  I will wait for the resurgence that I know will come.  I will continue to Shelter in Place for two weeks at a time and then watch and decide.

Most of my days are good but time no longer has any meaning.  When it seems like hours must have gone by, it is only 45 minutes.  Nothing feels normal.  It is a struggle for me to read and that was once part of my daily routine.  Every morning when I arise, I see the shower that needs to be cleaned but I can't seem to sense the importance of it once I have left the bathroom.  So I will see it again tomorrow.  Perhaps there is solace in that. 

I miss so much.  I miss seeing people on my regular schedule.  I miss impulsivity.  I have the thought that I should go grab a cup of coffee and remember.  I think about going to the nursery for a plant or mulch and then remember.  I miss my old life.  I had been here long enough to put things in place and now it all feels lost and forgotten. 

But I am grateful for so much.  I am grateful for technology; for FaceTime, for Zoom that keep our love ones alive for us.  I am grateful that I finished updating my kitchen before Coronavirus.  I would not have wanted to look at that burnt orange wall every day.  I am grateful for the view out of the back of my house where I can watch the birds and squirrels and bunnies.  I am grateful for flowers that are blooming and remind me that the universe is still in order.  I am grateful for everyone that reaches out to me and says, "I was wondering how you are."  That feels like the greatest I love you there can be.  I am grateful that my friends and family are well and pray that they will stay that way.

And so we continue to stay in and wait.  We continue to remind each other to stay home and stay safe.  We wonder what this new life will be as it begins to unfurl and reveal itself while we watch from a place by the window inside. 

The Look of Love

I am currently a witness to a love that is deep and true.  It is a love that i honor and revere.  It is not mine, it is the love between my mother and father.  They have been married for 70 years and that love has always been present.  But like all things in life, it has changed through the years.  My father has always affectionately referred to Mom as “my girlfriend.”  As the youngest of their three children, it never stopped being humorous to me, but it gradually became funnier while the years passed and the hair thinned and the walking pace slowed.  Now as their life together nears its end, anyone in the room can see and feel the power of their love.  It is a look.  It must certainly be the same look that brought them together as teenagers in high school.  It is that look where two pairs of eyes lock onto each other and within seconds they are lost in one another as the rest of the world fades away.  It is the look that made that teenage girl who is my mom, swoon over her young lover.  As she looked into his eyes the love she had for him was reflected back to her and she knew that this was the one.  This was the love that would carry her through all the hard times that lay ahead.  But it would also be the love that stood happily beside her in their travels and adventures together that even they wouldn’t guess could be possible.  And it is the look that no matter how many times I witness, I find myself looking away because it can only belong to them.  It is private and intimate.  And at this age this is what intimacy looks like.  It is the shared glances, the holding of hands as the one with a walker passes the one with a cane, and it is the declarative said in unison, “Eat your supper.” Love at this age is the reminder to call the doctor, to take your pills, and to eat.  It is the negotiating of who feels up to driving and who will fetch the nightly ice cream treat.  Yes,  it has a different look to it but it is clear that this is a love that anyone would wish for and die for.  This is a love that will last into eternity.  

Much Has Been Revealed

We continue along this path of Shelter in Place, Stay at Home; depending on the state in which you live.  For the most part, it has all been bearable but there are definitely days that the feeling of wandering takes hold.  I am aimless and without purpose.  There are always things that could be done but the aimlessness takes hold and I wander.  I wander around the house, around the yard, around the neighborhood.  And my thoughts begin to wander as well.  They quickly go to those who do not have what I have.  There are those who must work, who must stay home with their children, who must take care of the sick and elderly.  This pause in our country has been a giant revelation.  It has laid bare those who work for minimal pay, those who are not given the option to stay home.  It has exposed those who have health care and those who have the financial means to take a pause.  It has revealed those who actually can do their job from home in a spare room or a closet the size of a room in another's house or apartment.  The Greek definition of apocalypse is to reveal.  There are times when this feels like an ending of life as we know it, our small apocalypse.  The differences in class and society have been stripped bare for all to behold.  Look at me who has the time to take an hour walk every morning.  And then look at the migrant workers or landscapers who don their gloves and masks and pray that this virus does not attach itself to them during their shift and that they don't take it home to their families after a long day.  Then look at our millionaire politicians who make decisions about how much money is enough money for all the millions who are living hand to mouth but now the hand has nothing to show for it.  And then look at our small business owners who are trying desperately to redefine what they do and how they do it and to just hold on until it's over.  When it is over, will this revelation have changed anything?  Or will this knowledge that we now hold about the haves and have nots once again be swept under the rug.  Our leaders tell us this is the way our country was designed, this is how it was meant to be.  But yet, this is not how it has to be.  What if?  What if all workers had health care and were paid a living wage?  What if people could choose to leave their cars in the driveway and work from home?  What if people could respect a virus and be willing to protect their fellow humans just because it is the right thing to do?  What if our health care and retail workers were respected for being on the front lines not just today, but every day?  How would the world change if science and data led the way in place of money and profit?  Yes, the wandering mind goes from what is to what could be.  May we spend some time in this revelational apocalypse and think deeply about who we are as a people and who we could be.  What if?

Still Here

I'm still here, still at home.  I go to the grocery store with gloves, wipes, and now a mask.  I go to see my parents.  And that is it.  The rest of the time, I am here at home.  My routine is still there but tends to be sliding down a bit.  My  morning coffee is now two cups of coffee.  My 8:00 walk is usually a 9:00 or 9:30 walk.  Time has little meaning any longer because there is just so much of it.  I do my outside stuff in the morning because. like it or  not, spring has sprung and in Florida, that means 80+ degree temperatures in the afternoon.  So walk and garden in the morning, read or write in the afternoons.  But then that late afternoon lag hits and what to do?  Time is for filling, filling between breakfast and lunch and lunch and dinner.  But what if I eat lunch at 11 or 11:30 instead of noon?  What if I eat dinner at 5 instead of 6?  Time is still there and waiting to be filled. 

The little things become big.  Hummingbirds, butterflies, and cardinals flitting by become an event.  The young family that lives near-by on their daily walks are something for your eyes to follow for several minutes and remember when that was you.  The search for grasshopper larvae is now in the daily schedule.  My focus is still external - the darkening of the tree leaves, the little bunny hopping around the yard,  and the buds that are blooming.  I am grateful, deeply grateful for all these things that can occupy my mind and bring me back to the gift of simplicity.  I am here in the now.  I am home.  I am safe. I am well. 

Life in the Time of Social Distancing

Covid-19/Coronavirus is alive and well and making its presence known here and around the world.  I find myself yearning for a governor that overreacts rather than plays down the danger.  Florida is mellow.  Florida is low key.  Florida is in reality, a beach town lived out in 3 million people.  I spent way too much time on the west coast earthquake/fire country not to be overreactive.  So my days are the experience of being non-dualistic.  I'm worried.  I'm hopeful.  I know this has an end date.  And then I return to I'm worried.  I am not scared.  I am not fearful.  But I am worried.  I worry about being too relaxed.  I worried about my elderly and immunocompromised parents.  I worry about all those I love - my kids, my grandkids, my friends (we're also elderly), and everyone I love and hold dear. 

The days are long.  It is finally the end of March but I turned the page of the calendar yesterday because I was simply tired of looking at March.  Now I know that will happen again in April because the nation is on CDC guidelines of social distancing until April 30.  In my heart I know that may be extended to the middle of May.

I try diligently to follow a schedule.  It goes like this.  My regular morning routine remains intact with the addition of a second cup of coffee because I know how long the days are.  A slower start helps me make believe that today will go more quickly than yesterday.  So it is coffee/morning news, breakfast, newspaper/crossword puzzle, morning walk, gardening.  Then it's on to lunch, reading/writing although honestly my mind is in no place to do any writing on Ralph's memorial so that is on hold until who knows when.  Around 3:00 I begin to struggle.  I'm tired of reading, it's too hot to walk again and it's too early for happy hour so sometimes it's another cup of coffee and another trip around the yard.  It's my wandering time until 5:00 finally rolls around again.  THEN! Happy Hour, news, dinner, and my TV time for the evening.  I never struggled with filling my days when I first retired so this feels much more like when I was fired and I felt aimless.  And then the worries return.  Are my parents OK?  Are my kids and grandkids OK? What about my friends and the rest of my family?

I am deeply grateful for my brother in these days.  It started out as a joke but he checks in with me every day.  I love texting my kids and friends, FaceTiming with my loved ones, just staying connected.  Those of us who live alone tend to feel a slight loss of gravity.  There's no one else to ground us.  So it is only meals and routines that keep us bound to the earth. 

I think.  I pray.  I read.  I listen.  May we all come through this alive, healthy, and loving. 

The Natural Rhythm

As I write this, the earth is on the cusp of a new day dawning; Day 7 of America's 15 day social distancing plan to stem the Coronavirus.  As life slows to a crawl across this nation and many others, we find ourselves slowing to the pace of nature.  The birds and insects sing up and down the sun and we finally take note of the beat of the earth.  The light of the stars become part of the evening entertainment in the absence of theaters, and nature calls us to come out and be one with it.  We are more aware, more sentient than we have ever been before.  The heat of the sun on our skin or the gentle breeze moving through our hair forces us to take note of where we are.  We slow to appreciate everything and everyone around us.  Our minds turn to meditation and prayer to reframe this new existence and somehow live within it.  We move inward spiritually and physically and it feels right.  There is peace here.  We allow ourselves the time to think the deep thoughts, the what ifs of our existence.  And we are grateful.  Grateful for those we love and the technology that allows us to connect in new and more personal ways.  The other senses have taken over for touch. Eye contact and voice intonation are in charge now. We take time to reconnect those binds that may have frayed over the years.  In an instant, we call or text those who cross our minds; the mentors, the co-workers, the cousins and distant relatives.  That connection takes precedence over the mundane, the laundry, the dishes.  Today, this day, becomes everyone's reality.  Suddenly we are all mindful of this moment in time.  As we confront this virus in the only way we know how, we separate ourselves physically but support each other generously in love and solidarity.  Through it all, the outside world reminds us of how little we need to bloom and thrive - light, food, water, and our flock.  May we find and hold dear the beauty with which this dilemma has graced us as we listen to the earth, join in its rhythm, and find peace in the beat of its heart.

We, The Elderly

The Coronavirus/Covid 19 is running rampant.

Every day there are press briefings.  I always think that the information will make me feel better but it rarely does.  California, New York, Illinois, and Connecticut are now on "shelter in place."  I can feel it in the Florida air.  It is coming this way.   It is all the reminder of our mortality.  I am  now considered "elderly" as is my sister, brother, and most of my friends.  We are all now at risk, susceptible, and/or compromised.  And so are my parents.  We are looking at two generations that are now in danger or dying. 

And so what faces me now is the reality of living in Florida close to my parents and thinking of ways to keep us all, all safe.  While I think of them first, my health and general well-being quickly follows that initial thought.  How do I protect them?  How do I take care of them when they know they have already survived so much - polio, small pox, chicken pox, mumps?  I want to be the voice of reason without instilling the fear that I feel in the pit of my stomach.  How do I protect myself?  Hand washing is now part of my daily routine - when I wake up, after my shower (I know how silly that is), before I eat, after I eat...)  There is now no reason too ridiculous not to wash my hands. 

I find little humor in any of the virus or shelter in place jokes.  I do see the positive.  Everyone is inside so our water and air has never been cleaner.  I spend more time in prayer and happy thoughts and that is a very good place to be.  I know and respect the value of being outside for my morning walks or gardening.  Life is slower.  Life is simpler.  My brother checks in with me every day.  I love that.  He is my person.  He is the voice of reason and reassures me that I am right to be afraid.  So now we venture forth in this new reality.  Staying in. staying clean and staying connected. 

Parents and Child Becoming Known to Each Other

Being known has always been a stumbling block for me.  I’m unclear where it started but I’ve always been one to hold back just a little piece of me for the sake of protection.  I struggle to release myself completely, yet it is something that I yearn for.  To be known.  So when it happens I am acutely aware of the letting go.  Strangely enough, this has recently happened with my parents.  

When I moved to Florida i knew that I was going to get to know my parents on a much deeper level.  That is to be a given when you enter into the end of another’s life journey.  But my parents have always been a bit of an open book.  I’ve always known the credo by which my father lived and I have always known that my mom is one whose major purpose is to serve to father.   I welcome the new view I now have of both of them.  

I have been gifted with a view into my dad’s gentle mellowing.  It may not even be noticed by others but knowing him as I have for 65 years, I can see the slight movement off of his opinions and the belief in his rightness.  As he becomes more aware that the end is near, he talks more about the logistics that his absence will bring.  This is definitely a gift to me as the executor.  His love for Mom is much more obvious.  He works diligently  to bring her into the financial decision making process, knowing that in a short time, this is a skill she will need.  He is deeply aware that his opinions have interfered with relationships with his children and grandchildren.  He is not willing to change it but the knowing is gift enough for me.  

My mom has revealed herself to be much more stubborn and opinionated than I knew.  She has her own mind although it still remains difficult to share it when your husband has a tendency to argue you down.  However, that does not keep her from trying.  This is where her stubbornness is a good thing to accompany the opinions.

In some ways, I have seen them at their worst as I have become the silent partner as I become the physical muscle to help them accomplish chores around the house.  Everything is a negotiation of sorts.  I keep out of the arguments and work to read the situation to decide when to make a move.  I can clearly see how they operate, how they fight, how they forgive without saying it aloud and move past the hurdle.  Dad rolls his eyes and Mom shakes her head and know that all is right with the world again.

Slowly, ever so slowly, they have also entered into my world.  They came first as advisors to home management.  They definitely had thoughts and opinions about grading the yard, painting the house, updating the kitchen.  I accepted them all and followed most of them but there came a point where I stopped bringing them into the process and simply shared the result.  It came about naturally and all of us accepted it as a necessary step in our new relationship.  With that we moved  just a step away from the father/mother and child relationship.  I will always be their child but they began to see me as an adult outside of that bond.  Now one of Dad’s first questions when we are together is,”What have you been up to?”  And he really wants to know.  I tell him about my comings and goings and the people that I am meeting.  This is new.  It is new that he asks and new that I feel safe answering.  Living long distances apart from each other, this was just something that never occurred.  It felt like too much work to explain the people and things in my life.  An hour a week phone call just wasn’t time to get through the what and the why.  So much was left unsaid and hence unknown.  We could always laugh and joke about my life but I kept it most of it to myself.  At the crux of that was my fear of being judged.  But timing is everything.  He seems to know that his time is short and that the relationship is something more valuable than his ethics or judgement.  So I talk and they listen.  This is new!  I can ask for advice without him first offering it.  Our political conversations haven’t changed much but they will now from time to time ask what I think or what I predict will happen.  And I can answer without them first telling me that I am wrong and why.  

We are becoming known to each other in new and deeper ways.  Everything about it feels good.  There is a sense of softness that has entered our relationships.  I am relieved that I will be able to say good-bye to each of my parents and what will remain is the love and the memories of this time that we had together.  This is a time when we broke the bonds of the parent/child rules of living.  We talked and listened to each other and truly enjoyed being in each others company.  But with that comes the fear that it will make the good-bye harder than it would have been a year ago when our roles were known and rehearsed.  As we let love in we know that the loss of it will be that much more painful.  As that pain ebbs as it eventually will, I will rejoice at the gift that is left behind.  

A Sociologist's View of Inverness

I am a sociology major college graduate.  I am fascinated by human beings and how we interact with one another.  If there is one thing that consumes my thoughts more than anything else, it is self-reflection.  In the last five years I have lived in 4 cities, and 3 states. Santa Clara, San Jose, Vancouver, Washington, and Inverness, Florida.  Every place was different, every city/town was different, as was every state.  But the move to Inverness has set everything on its head.  

I don’t really recall how I reacted to people who were unknown to me as a child.  Being the 3rd of 4 kids, I tended to follow the crowd.  I did whatever I was told or simply followed the lead of my siblings.  When I went to college, I hung with my group - my roommates, my classmates.  Colleges can be very closed societies so I never thought much about it.  After that I was off to Santa Clara and began the work of creating a new home.  I attributed so much of the challenge of building relationships in this new phase of my life to a west coast/California phenomena.  Now I’m not so sure.  Santa Clara is a bedroom town to San Jose and San Jose is a very large city.  I made friends, never easily, but I had a group to which I clung.  Many times I felt alone, without my family nearby but I carried on.  I made friends as a young mother, as a returning college student, as a teacher and co-worker.  I collected my people along the way and rarely let go of them.  We got together for coffee, for lunch, for dinner, or social events.  But the idea of making friends with strangers that you might meet along your meanderings was foreign to me.  I was fascinated by people who could pull this off.  

Californians, at least in the San Jose area, did not make eye contact and there was no idle conversation in the grocery line, so how was it that you start up that initial interchange?  As the years went by, I stopped assessing and evaluating this oddity because it never seems to change.  When I traveled back to Iowa or Florida, I was always struck by the “friendliness” of other locales. 

As I made the move to Vancouver, I experienced much of the same social atmosphere as I had in Santa Clara.  People were a little more friendly but there was always something that was held back.  It seemed that you were granted access to the inner circle with someone else’s membership.  I was freely accepted at my sister’s church because I was with my sister.  But the experience was the same in grocery stores in my neighborhood as it had been in California.  In my reflection at the time, I chalked it up to “west coast” behavior.  

Fast forward to Inverness, Florida, a town of 7,000 people.  Compare that to 200,000 in Vancouver and well over a million in San Jose.  The first thing I was struck with during my first visit was how friendly the people were.  People gain and hold eye contact, they smile, they talk to one another  There is an openness that I have never experienced before.  There is also less attachment to individuals.  You no longer need to cling to your friends to feel accepted so there are fewer coffee and lunch dates.  I have met people in the grocery stores (especially at the deli counter), at festivals, and in churches.  We tell each other our stories; where are you from, what brought you here, how did you find Inverness?  I no longer worry about going anywhere alone and having to introduce myself because I know there is a friend waiting for me there.  I have never felt so welcomed or embraced by a town before.  I bring my eye contact and smile wherever I go and in return I am gifted with friendship, camaraderie, and conversation.  Is it small town/big city or east coast/west coast?  The sociologist in me says it’s the small town experience.  It is the necessary dependence on one another to get your needs met.  In the big city you simply buy whatever you need.  But in a smaller community, everything is not available and at your fingertips.  You have to ask for help or recommendations from those who have been around before you got here.  You learn to appreciate the Inverness that is and was and work to keep pieces of it intact before it is also lost to increased population and indifference.

As I reflect on this, I feel walls around me crumbling.  I see and hear myself starting conversations with strangers and it amazes me.  Who is this woman that now, after all these years, has the courage and comfort to say hello and trust that a return hello and a story will come back to me.  I am still me at my core but this is a better, nicer, more welcoming me.  I no longer have the need to protect myself with my family or friends around me.  I am enough.  I am welcome, appreciated, and making a difference in the lives of even strangers in this, my new community.    

Learning to Talk About Death

Kobe Bryant's death has been an incomprehensible tragedy.  I am deeply sorry for his wife and children who have been left behind and will have to forge a new way of living as a family.  He was larger than life and I can't imagine what it is like to take that first step into life after Kobe.  But Kobe was not perfect.  He was accused of rape and it has left an ugly shadow on the legacy that many do not care to remember.  Kobe was not perfect.  No one is perfect.  We all have our shadows. 

In our pain, we want so badly to remember our loved ones as whole, complete, and perfect.  Somehow we have to learn how to incorporate the whole person into our memory of them after they pass.  I have recently said my final good-bye to my ex-husband, my lifelong friend.  There have been and continue to be some tricky moments for me, both public and private where the shadows have appeared.  There were some very real reasons why we divorced after 23 years of marriage.  In my grief, they are often the reality check for me and the reminder that how America mourns is sorely lacking.  He wasn't perfect.  We weren't perfect.  Yet I remember him as my great love.  But I also remember the pain.

I mourned his passing with my family and friends with out hesitation.  It broke me completely to know that he and I would never enjoy one another's company again.  Day after day, I had to tell myself that he was gone.  No more talks, no more dinners, no more laughs together.  But as you continue the journey of reliving that live that is no more, the shadows slowly appear.  The photos bring it all back into focus.  In a picture is everything; the people, the place, how you got there.  You remember it all; the fight you had just before the photo was snapped, the smile that you pasted on your face trying desperately to cover the pain for the benefit of others, or the emptiness when he didn't even show up.  But mourning in America has no place for that, even if you're the ex-wife.  There is no opportunity to say that he wasn't perfect, that I had wanted more.  I wanted to grow old together even if that was only to 2019.  I wanted him to still be here, I wanted to still have our family home filled with kids and grandkids in the backyard and gathered around the table.  No, he wasn't perfect, we weren't perfect.  And now I want us, as a society, to get better at this grieving thing.  I want so badly to be remembered whole.  I want my kids to tell the stupid stories of my life.  Do not sugar coat me .  Keep me human with all my frailties and weaknesses.  Remember me as I am.  Don't leave any of it out.  I have light and I have shadows.  We all do.

Writing!

I am writing.  I haven't done much writing here but I am writing.  Following Ralph's passing I was overcome with the need to be certain that he and his stories live on in the hearts and minds of his grandchildren.  I know in my own life I have had to rehear the stories of my grandparents who passed on during my childhood.  I would prefer that Ralph's stories come to life now rather than 50 years from now when the little ones start asking about him and the things he cared about.  I got started on this project with a general idea in mind of just jotting down a few memories that defined Ralph as a person but then discovered a book to help me through the process; Life's Workbook; How to Write Your Autobiography Through Memoir Writing.  It has been the perfect fit for this project.  The first step was to complete a life chronological calendar.  It is quite a thing to see your entire life in a notebook - where you have lived, the big events, vacations, how your work and educational life supported each other.   It is the perfect starting point Not having many social contacts in town has also helped me immensely as I dive into this full force.  I try to write almost every day like everyone says you should.  I write the draft and then go back to it later to beef it up or smooth out the rough edges.  The writing stays with me.  I think about it before I write, during the process and afterward - what I left out, how to be sure that his being comes through the words in the love and humor that he exuded.  It is an awesome responsibility; to create this person who you loved with only words and to know that he will live on because of this work. 

Things that keep coming up for me:

• I tend to feel emotionally stuck in the event or time period that I'm writing about.  That can be a joyful thing or painful depending on the topic and how much I decide to include for my audience.  Writing about the baby years was definitely exhausting and I had to push myself to get through it quickly.  I smelled those diapers and felt the sleepless nights in my entire body.  The brain is a fascinating thing!
• Save your letters; hearing the voice of your younger self is exactly the voice you want to come through in your memoirs.  I'm not a saver but I was never able to throw away my parents or Ralph's letters from my college years.  My parents also gave me a couple letters that I had written to them during the same time frame.  Those were fascinating!  I told them a lot more than I thought I would have.  
• Reliving the life of our marital relationship through this writing is cathartic.  While it does not help the grieving process at all it does confirm that we were happy together for many many years.  It is the reminder that my grieving is real; I lost a good friend and someone who knew me better than anyone else in the world.  I miss him.
• While my intention was to write Ralph's story, I can already see how this is going to spread into another story; mine.  

And so I am writing.  I am a writer.  It has always been a thing to which I have aspired.  And it's happening.   It was always there waiting to come out; I only needed a purpose, an opportunity and and audience.    

Putting 2019 to Bed

2019 is done.  Just as with any other year, it was filled with highs and lows.  But this year was different.  God/fate/destiny took hold of my hand and didn't let go.  By the time June rolled around, I had left my sweet home in Vancouver where I had been surrounded with the love of a new family branch led by my sister, new friends, the beauty of Mt. St. Helens and a short flight back to my loved ones in San Jose.  It seemed perfect.  And then it wasn't.  By mid-year I was 3,000 miles away and living in central Florida and in only 2 more months my ex-husband and lifelong friend had taken ill and passed away.  It all felt like one shock after another.  They just seemed to keep coming.

The highs were high.  I am living within 90 minutes of my parents and am able to visit frequently.  This time together is precious.  My parents are able to share the stories that they want to live on when they are gone.  I am able to ask anything and I get answers that go deep.  I am living drenched in sunshine - December in the 70s is an amazing thing.  I can grow all kinds of plants and vegetables.  I watch the sun rise and set and am in awe of the simplest things that happen every day if I only take the time to notice.  I can travel the east coast and see things that were never on my list - Savannah, Charleston, day trips around my new home that leave me breathless.  I am only minutes away from clear blue spring water that bubbles up from the underground; vibrant tropical flowers are everywhere - even in my own backyard.  Some days feel like I'm in a dream.

And the lows have been low.  I am 3,000 miles/6 hour flight away from my children and grandchildren.  It breaks my heart on a daily basis.  And there's nothing that can be done to change it.  I said and continue to say good-bye to Ralph.  I am struck motionless by the times that I feel his absence in the world.  I miss him.  I miss his heart.  I miss our conversations about education, the kids, and the future.  I hold onto the notion that we lived in the moment every time we were together.  We did  not hold anything back - the love was always there and I left nothing unsaid.  I'm just sad, incredibly sad that I have the lost the man I once loved with my whole heart but more than that, respected always.

So this year has been a year of tears.  I have cried in joy and in sorrow.  I have cried witnessing my children's reconciliation.  I have cried leaving my parents on Christmas Day as they held on to my hand after I had let go.  I have cried watching my grandchildren succeed in gymnastics, swimming, and jujitsu, knowing that the moments we have together are gone in an instant. 

So I say good-bye to you, 2019.  I have learned and loved from everything you gave me.  I step forward into 2020 a stronger but sadder woman.  I am slowly learning to accept what can and cannot be changed.  As I continue forth into these golden years, loss becomes a bigger part of the picture.  I hold on tightly to the moments I have with my loved ones knowing that we all have an expiration date.  May 2020 help me continue to understand that life is short and all that matters in the end is the love that was shared. 

One Word

In the past few years I have given up on New Year's Resolutions.  I made them every year and they were meaningful.  They were never about losing weight or exercising more.  I spent time in reflection; what would I like to change, how can I be a better person/teacher/mom, etc; what are my goals and how can I meet them?  Sometimes I was successful and sometimes at the end of the year I was sadly lacking in progress on my goal.  Then a couple years ago I discovered a thing called One Word.  At its core, it is taking the idea of your resolutions and putting them into one word.  So after reflection of where I'm going and how I think that I can get there, what is the one word that describes that process?  Two years ago it was gratitude.  That was an easy one.  I could think and write about it every day, and I did.  The thing about the One Word is finding ways to keep it uppermost in your mind so that you can continue to work on it throughout the year - just like a resolution.  Last year my word was enough.  Not what you might think - not that I have enough but I AM enough.  It was the reminder that I have everything I need and that whatever I bring to the world and my relationships was enough.  It was a way for me to do away with my personal judgments.  My trick last year was to buy an Etsy bracelet with the one word etched on it.  It worked.  Every morning in the beginning and then later, when I needed the reminder, I would pop on the simple bracelet and it was like magic.  Just like that, I was enough.  So now it's time for a new word.  As I reflect on the year ahead, I know that I will be called to a new level of strength.  As I watch my dad's health sag, it is clear that I've been drawn here to be one that stands up and takes over when needed or called upon.  I also know that my spiritual life has had a bit of its own sagging going on.  I'm working on that...  My word for 2020 is steadfast.

steadfast
adjective
resolutely or dutifully firm and unwavering; steadfast loyalty

synonyms:  loyal, faithful, committed, devoted, dedicated, dependable, reliable, steady, true, constant, staunch, trusty, firm, determined, resolute, stalwart, stout, relentless, implacable, singleminded, unchanging, unwavering, unhesitating, unfaltering, unswerving, unyielding, unflinching, inflexible, uncompromising

2. 
   
3. Now there are a lot of un- and in- words there which are not my favorites but the synonyms that are resinating with me are faithful, reliable, steady, and constant.  I'm searching for that in my relationships.  I want to be that stalwart presence for both my parents and my children.  I want to be the one that during the hard conversations, I can be reassuring, patient, and the shoulder to lean on.  Lately, I haven't felt very dependable in that department.  Tears are flowing way too often for me to be determined or resolute.  I cry when I leave my parents house knowing that every time I'm there could be the last.  I cry when I even think about being away from my kids and grandchildren at Christmas or birthdays or anything.  This has always been true.  Wherever I am, I think about being somewhere else.  I know that all will be well in the end.  And this is not the end.  So for now, I will work on my steadfastness.  And gratitude. And enough.  That's the other thing I like about the One Word.  It is simple enough that I can remember it over the years and I continue to work on all of them.  That was only true of my resolutions because I was making the same ones over and over again.  
4. 
   
5. So 2020, I am ready to begin.  I am ready to become more steadfast in this new journey around the sun.  

Things I'm Learning About Inverness

The leaves do change color but it happens in December.  This is a good fit for me as the light reduces, at least I have something to distract me.

The town is filled with lovers holding hands.  I don't know if these elderly are newlyweds or in it for the long haul but it warms my heart.  You will also see one holding the other one up which is also endearing.  But I prefer the hand holding.

While the general population is fairly red, there is a pocket of democrats who are happy to find one another. 

Some of the crime reports still make me chuckle (the guy arrested for beating on a stop sign) but there is real crime.  It is just on a smaller scale.

There is a gentle joy in being in a place where when you are out  walking, everyone, I mean everyone waves as they drive by.  Eye contact is a thing here.  The waves make up for the rarity of sidewalks.

Parades are big.  Veteran's Day, Christmas, Boats. 

I am finding my rhythm and feeling connections to this sense of place.  I often feel this glow of happiness and realize that I am just happy to be here.  Yes, I still miss my west coast people but there is a rooting that is taking place. 

My Favorite Holiday

From my earliest memories, Thanksgiving has been my favorite holiday.  Not Halloween with it's free candy and glowing jack-o-lanterns, not even Christmas where anything you asked for you might get.  My favorite was the one that centered on food and family and giving thanks.  Growing up in the frigid midwest, I loved everything about it - the strong smells of autumnal spices, the warmth of the house from an oven working in overdrive, the flavors that combined to create its own little celebration on my tongue.  My childhood Thanksgivings were spent at my grandparents' house.  Now my grandmother was an amazing cook but still, it was like a magic trick to see all the pots and pans and casseroles dishes that came out of her oven.  It was like a comic clown car where people just kept coming.  She thought nothing of cooking multiples of every food group.  Salads, vegetables, desserts, breads; no one would leave hungry no matter your taste preferences.  The door was open to anyone who needed a place to be - family, friends, it didn't matter.  There was always room for one more at the table.  We added chairs or cobbled together benches made from planks and blocks.  If we didn't fit in the dining or living room, we ate in the garage.  Everyone was there and everyone brought something.  The arrival of each family was like a party and the volume increased with each addition.  The kids would play football outside when the weather was good or there would be a game on TV to watch.  When it was time to eat, we would gather in gratitude and give thanks to God for the food and one another.  It was loud and joyous.   Dinner seemed to be endless.  The moms would clean up a bit and then came the desserts.  But it wasn't over yet.  The kids would go back outside or hangout in the living room.  And within a few hours someone would suggest making a turkey sandwich.  Yes, the Allen Thanksgiving was an all day event.  It was a simpler time.  It was pre-dishwasher so everybody pitched in to help  It was also pre-Black Friday.  No one was thinking of shopping or seeing a holiday movie.  It was a day devoted to thankfulness and enjoying one another.  These are still very strong and loving memories.  Once I had a family of my own, I tried hard to recreate these days.  It wasn't the same but when I could negotiate my way into Thanksgiving dinner at our house, I was the happiest.  Thanksgiving is still the day I need to be with those I hold the dearest.  This year will be the farthest I've ever had to go to make that happen.  Thanksgiving 2019 is a 3,000 mile plane ride a rental car, and a 5 hour drive.  And at the end, I will be surrounded by loved ones, although not all of them.  Some are far away and some have passed but my heart will fill with the memories of all the Thanksgivings past; those at Grandma and Grandpa's, those on College Ave or Circle Drive and even a few on Fremont Street.  What remains is my love of the food and family and most of all giving thanks. 

Home

Moving always involves a deep and profound creation of home.  You buy a house, you fill it with furniture and surround yourself with "your things."  But there is an unfilled space that can't be named.  It is what's been left behind.  The last home.  The house, the yard, the colors that were the used to be home.  So you set about remaking what was.  You plant, you paint, you remodel and build the new home.  And slowly, ever so slowly it takes shape.  You are making home.  Eventually, with time you adjust to the views out of your windows and start to feel a sense of comfort with them.  One day you drive into the driveway and sense the "ahh" of being home.  It takes so long and happens incrementally so that it is hard to notice.  Then one day you have the thought that I like it here.  I like this rug and those cabinets and this view of the world.  This isn't that home but it is this home.  And I like it. 

Days Remembered

October 28th is Ralph's birthday.  Whether he is on this earth or not, this day will always be his.  Birthdays were always one of those things that he didn't care that much about.  Through the years we learned to find a balance between the Allen celebration and the Giannini lack thereof.  It took me a long time to figure it out.  But he grew up working in his mom's restaurant so there were no real holidays or birthdays.  Life revolved around the family work schedule.  And then the same thing happened when he was running the liquor store.  In contrast, the Allens had all kinds of rites and rituals that revolved around your birthday.  In a family of 6, it was the only day of the year that was yours and everyone else had to acknowledge it.  So, for Ralph a birthday dinner was the celebration.  He got to pick the restaurant and more times than I care to remember he would try to pawn that decision off on me or the kids.  As the years went by, he came to enjoy those dinners and they took on more meaning.  He was a pretty simple guy and all he ever really wanted was to have his family around him for his birthday.  So now on this his first "heavenly" birthday, I hope that he is able to feel the love that is still so deeply felt from his family.  These anniversary days are especially hard in the grieving process.  It is the concrete reminder of the finality of death, that he is gone and it's forever.  Nothing in life is ever over or done except for death.  Grieving for me is mostly coming to terms with that.  It is the reminder that all we have is today, this moment.  So make it count.  Say I love you.  Spend time with those you care about.  Live life fully.  But when those you love have passed, remember.  Hold fast to the memories.  Go through old photographs, tell the old stories; it's up to you to make sure that they live on in the hearts of their children and grandchildren.

The Good-byes are SO Hard

It feels like all of my life I have been saying good-bye to people I love.  It's always been hard but not like this.  I left home after college and Florida to California was so far away.  I cried because of the distance and the feeling of helplessness if "anything happened."  The unnamed anything was always lurking about.  And it involved everyone - my parents, my friends, my siblings, even my grandfather.  I cried every time, every time I left.  Then the kids came and the business of them enveloped me and the sad good-byes found their place in the mess.  There was so little time to think about where I was in the world or where everyone else was.  Time marched on.  Once the generational aging began the sadness returned.  I returned to Florida or Iowa and said my good-byes but something new took the place of the sadness.  It was gratitude and what if.  Thank you for this time together.  If it's the last time I see these loved ones, I will hold it in my heart forever.  What if I never see them again?  Life carried on.  The kids grew up.  Grandchildren came.  The grandparents passed on as they are expected to and things seemed right.  I had adjusted to leaving Florida and returning and leaving again.  My parents were healthy and everything seemed fine.  Now I find myself back in Florida which feels right in part of my life but now the California piece of my life is floating about and I can't seem to grasp it.  And that California piece is huge - both wide and deep.  It is friends, it is my children, it is my grandchildren, it is the feeling of home. These are big chunks of my heart - the kinds of chunks that if they were removed, I would die.  I have left California 4 times in the last 2 months and each time got harder.  I can barely speak the day of my departure for fear that I will melt into tears.  And one thing that my family did not need lately is one more person falling apart.  So my feelings are left unsaid.  I leave with a smile so that those left behind will know that I love them and that I'm OK.  But I'm not OK.  I am sad.  I am sad for days.  I am left with an emptiness because all this love is left inside of me instead of inside of my children and grandchildren.  Everyone says, "Oh I know.  The good-byes are hard."  But I don't think they do.  I'm not sure about the value of saying "I know.."  No one can know this pain, this feeling of dis-ease.  What you can know is how deeply I love these people in my life and that maybe, just maybe the sadness will find its place and that it will start to get easier one day. 

On This Day

On this day 43 years ago I married a man that I fully intended to spend the rest of my life with.  That didn't happen but I did find a friend for life.  With divorce came  a different awareness of this date and I began to dread it.  And then I met people who also married their best friend on September 25th.  I could then anticipate it with a lightness in my heart.  Now with the passing of my lifelong friend I can recall all the happiness that this day held for us 43 years ago.  I remember the joy, the good times, the babies that came and added to our family.  I remember the smiles, the laughter, the trips together, the journey.  That is all that this life is, a journey.  Along the way we are confronted with challenges and joys alike.  And hopefully in the end we can look back and say, "That was good."

Once Again Brought to Tears

I had gone a few days and was feeling like I was doing OK with the loss of Ralph and what it means going forward.  It turns out that maybe I was just distracted.  As I read a quote of Cokie Roberts today, the tears immediately flooded every thought from my head.  When it happens, I can't seem to process where they come from or what they mean.  I'm not much of a cryer so this has shook me to my core. 

Cokie Roberts hit me in the heart today.  At first I thought the tears were because she had also just passed away but it was much more than that.  She was speaking of the loss of her sister.  I have often thought that the loss of an ex-spouse who has remained a friend is similar to the loss of a sibling.  You have lost the only person who shared that part of your life.  The person who was there in those decades is now gone and there is no one who can truly understand the you who you were.  Nobody "gets" the jokes or the struggles.  Only you.  And you are left in the silence.  Here are her words:   "The main impact is just the loss, the incredible loss.  The expectations just were gone.  The old age that I expected is different.  It never occurred to me that she wouldn't be in the next rocker..." 
She nailed it.  It's the loss, the incredible loss.  I never expected that Ralph would be gone so soon.  That we would never go to dinner again or laugh together at the kids or grandkids again. That never again would he be with us at Thanksgiving dinner or Easter brunch.  Over.  Done.  Just like that.  There would be no retirement bridge games or trips or volunteer work for him.  There would be no "Isn't retirement great?" lunches.  No anything. 

My heart rips open and when I analyze it, it is just this immense void; a void that I always feel like I'm teetering on.  The void that he fell into and I fear  that it will also swallow me.  Not that I will die but that I will choose the darkness, the sadness over what remains in life.  The tears come and I feel paralyzed.  The step that I was in the midst of falls back to the floor.  And in that moment, I feel nothing but regret.  What would I have done if I'd known?  But I didn't.  We can only live life based on what we know, what we feel, and what we think.  We all did what we thought was right.  In the end no one had the power to avert the events that were unfolding before us.  I know that.  But it doesn't change the sadness that is always a step away.  It's the loss, the incredible loss.