Mathematics

Last time we had a holiday come around, it was Memorial Day, and I spent it by Jerry's side at the hospital.  And now here comes another holiday.  My only plans for the weekend are to go through stuff in the basement - my stuff, not Jerry's - and organize it.  That is, figure out what I need to bring to Goodwill or the local library to donate - books I've been moving from place to place to place for years and will never want to read again.  Considering the state of the basement, I'm sure a lot of the books are mildewed and will probably have to be thrown into the recycling.  I'm also going through clothes and thinking about what I haven't worn in years and will never wear.

I can't go through Jerry's things yet.  Not his clothing, anyway.  Not his shoes.  Joan Didion said it: I can't give away his shoes, he'll need them when he comes back.  A brain in a more rational state would think about the urn in the bedroom and put two and two together and get something closer to four, to the fact that Jerry is not coming back and will not need his shoes, will not be polishing up his trusty Oxfords to wear at Lookout Mountain in August.  Obviously my brain is capable of noticing that two plus two equals four, objectively, and yet when I do the addition I still keep reaching three, or five, some sort of scenario where he's coming back.  Not yet, apparently, but soon.  It's got to be soon.

Other than going through stuff, the only other thing I know is that mail will be delivered tomorrow afternoon, and between 4 and 8 someone from DirecTV will come and see if the satellite dish can be adjusted to get better reception or if the trees are blocking too much of the sky.  Yeah, that thing about mail: sort of a high point to the day.  Although its contents aren't always.  Statements from Medicare and Blue Cross are still trickling in, with absurd numbers reflecting the insanity of the so-called healthcare so-called system.  As long as the "Amount you may owe" continues to be 0, I'll be okay.  Jerry still gets mail, of course - today it was a Daedalus book catalogue, a bitter reminder of the pile of unread books on a dresser in the bedroom that Jerry ordered from them in April, figuring he'd be spending a lot of time resting and recovering from chemotherapy and would have a lot of time to read.  "A lot of time."

Went to the shop today and put the last coat of white lacquer on an extra piece for a mostly finished job.  My last-ever use of the white lacquer?  I used to complain about it, since for a while there I had all sorts of problems with it, air bubbles or particles spitting out of the gun.  Now I seem to have the hang of it... just in time never to need to do it again.  We sent out letters to local cabinet shops, hoping someone will want to ride in at the last minute on his white horse and buy Wood Bros.  And as I looked up the shops on line, I felt so angry that they're still operating, they're still alive.

We began to get rid of years and years' worth of saved woodworking catalogues and magazines.  Jerry really wasn't good at throwing things out.  Again, I felt sad and guilty throwing out stuff he'd saved all these years.  As if he's going to come back and need them. And besides, some had layers of dust on them that showed he hadn't looked at them, or thought about them, in all this time.  It still hurts, though. Everything hurts.