29 October 2010
It Gets Better: Gay Men's Chorus of Los Angeles "True Colors"
Posting this because it makes me cry... in a good way... every time I watch it.
Unimaginable
I'm far from the first widowed person to notice this sort of thing, but I look at that picture of me and Jerry in the spray booth and I'm amazed at the expression on my face. I've smiled since Jerry died (to my amazement, since right after he died, I never imagined I'd ever smile again), but I can't fathom experiencing the joy that's on my face in that photo. Of course, as I just said, I never imagined I'd ever smile again, period, so I can't predict what the future will bring. But that happiness, that ease, standing next to my Jerry like that and being so full of joy? I can't even remember what that felt like now. I know I did feel it, and there are certainly enough photos of the two of us together in which I'm doing nothing but smiling like that to show me that once upon I time I did have that happiness. That love. As unimaginable now as that is.
Today's excitement was of the animal variety. I kept hearing noise, pretty sure it was coming from the basement, but kept finding nothing when I went down there. Then I began to think it was coming from the kitchen... and finally I went in and definitely heard a plastic rustling sound coming from a stand-alone pantry cabinet that had belonged to my grandmother, then was in my parents' house, and came with us back to Illinois when my parents moved into the apartment in the city and couldn't bring all their furniture with them. Jerry and I stripped the layers of paint off of it and refinished it, but didn't get all the paint off, so it has a pleasant battered antique look to it. Anyway... I got the little LED flashlight on my keychain and shone it into the pantry... and there was a mouse looking back at me, sitting among plastic bags of pasta. We stayed that way for I don't know, a minute? Then the mouse took off. And it was so cute. Little ears twitching, little nose twitching, dark eyes. As Jerry and I would say when we saw mice, "Little feet!" But... but... it was in my pantry cabinet. And as Jerry would say whenever he saw a spider on the wall, "There are rules." So although I'm not feeling as totally cold and brutal as I was a few months ago, I still went back up to the Despot and got some more rat poison. Part of me hates doing this, but the humane trapping just does not ever, ever take care of the problem. So, brutal, yes, but I have to do it. (Don't e-mail me or comment and tell me I shouldn't, or I have alternatives. Just don't do it. It's not as if I don't see the mouse's point of view here too. I just have made a decision I have to make. End of story.)
Another week ending. Tomorrow, another Auburn game to look forward to on TV. Then ten days or so until, if all goes as planned, I head down to Alabama for a few weeks, to spend time in Huntsville, see more of the city, attend the Auburn-GA game (and if you'd told me only a few months ago how excited I'd be at the prospect of that, I'd have said you were nuts... but yeah, real excited, and Mr. Cam, you'd better stay healthy between now and then, is all I can say! Also, Karen & David, I need to learn more cheers and stuff before then!), and go to the Alabama State Sacred Harp Singing Convention in Birmingham. It's making me nervous to be planning to be away from home for that long - Jerry and I never spent that long away from home the entire time we were married - even our honeymoon was only 6 days long. One of the many things that you give up when you run your own small business... or at least, a small business that's that far in the red. I'm sure I'll be fine once I'm on my way. Better, in fact. But it's making me nervous.
My big plans to start being better about eating were a huge, huge failure. I can't bring myself to care. Not even the prospect of being put on a scale on Monday at my semi-annual appointment with the endocrinologist has been enough to slow me down - I just can't care. I know the answer to the question of "Who should I be worrying about my appearance (or health) for?" should be me, but right now it's not enough... yet. Yet. I suppose it's like everything else these days: when it's time, I'll know. Same goes for exercise, I suppose... whatever that is.
In other news: I've been obsessively looking at a pair of high-heeled Danskos on Zappos. I, for those of you who don't know, am a person who cannot wear high-heeled shoes without major foot pain. (And "high" as defined by me is not "high" as defined by most women.) I'm also a person who wears wide sizes, and although my Dansko clogs are perfectly comfortable, I don't know how their shoes run as far as width goes. I'm also a person who has no need for those shoes. But I keep looking at them. I'm working on staying content with just looking at them... and staying realistic about how they'd feel on my feet. (If you're curious, it's these. For as long as that link stays active.)
Today's excitement was of the animal variety. I kept hearing noise, pretty sure it was coming from the basement, but kept finding nothing when I went down there. Then I began to think it was coming from the kitchen... and finally I went in and definitely heard a plastic rustling sound coming from a stand-alone pantry cabinet that had belonged to my grandmother, then was in my parents' house, and came with us back to Illinois when my parents moved into the apartment in the city and couldn't bring all their furniture with them. Jerry and I stripped the layers of paint off of it and refinished it, but didn't get all the paint off, so it has a pleasant battered antique look to it. Anyway... I got the little LED flashlight on my keychain and shone it into the pantry... and there was a mouse looking back at me, sitting among plastic bags of pasta. We stayed that way for I don't know, a minute? Then the mouse took off. And it was so cute. Little ears twitching, little nose twitching, dark eyes. As Jerry and I would say when we saw mice, "Little feet!" But... but... it was in my pantry cabinet. And as Jerry would say whenever he saw a spider on the wall, "There are rules." So although I'm not feeling as totally cold and brutal as I was a few months ago, I still went back up to the Despot and got some more rat poison. Part of me hates doing this, but the humane trapping just does not ever, ever take care of the problem. So, brutal, yes, but I have to do it. (Don't e-mail me or comment and tell me I shouldn't, or I have alternatives. Just don't do it. It's not as if I don't see the mouse's point of view here too. I just have made a decision I have to make. End of story.)
Another week ending. Tomorrow, another Auburn game to look forward to on TV. Then ten days or so until, if all goes as planned, I head down to Alabama for a few weeks, to spend time in Huntsville, see more of the city, attend the Auburn-GA game (and if you'd told me only a few months ago how excited I'd be at the prospect of that, I'd have said you were nuts... but yeah, real excited, and Mr. Cam, you'd better stay healthy between now and then, is all I can say! Also, Karen & David, I need to learn more cheers and stuff before then!), and go to the Alabama State Sacred Harp Singing Convention in Birmingham. It's making me nervous to be planning to be away from home for that long - Jerry and I never spent that long away from home the entire time we were married - even our honeymoon was only 6 days long. One of the many things that you give up when you run your own small business... or at least, a small business that's that far in the red. I'm sure I'll be fine once I'm on my way. Better, in fact. But it's making me nervous.
My big plans to start being better about eating were a huge, huge failure. I can't bring myself to care. Not even the prospect of being put on a scale on Monday at my semi-annual appointment with the endocrinologist has been enough to slow me down - I just can't care. I know the answer to the question of "Who should I be worrying about my appearance (or health) for?" should be me, but right now it's not enough... yet. Yet. I suppose it's like everything else these days: when it's time, I'll know. Same goes for exercise, I suppose... whatever that is.
In other news: I've been obsessively looking at a pair of high-heeled Danskos on Zappos. I, for those of you who don't know, am a person who cannot wear high-heeled shoes without major foot pain. (And "high" as defined by me is not "high" as defined by most women.) I'm also a person who wears wide sizes, and although my Dansko clogs are perfectly comfortable, I don't know how their shoes run as far as width goes. I'm also a person who has no need for those shoes. But I keep looking at them. I'm working on staying content with just looking at them... and staying realistic about how they'd feel on my feet. (If you're curious, it's these. For as long as that link stays active.)
In the spray booth, September 2005
After the singing workshop at which the previous posted photo of Jerry was taken, we stopped off at the cabinet shop to show it to my parents. This is us standing in the spray booth - unfortunately, the spray booth is sharp and we're fuzzy, but I still love the photo.
28 October 2010
JME, September 2005
Jerry at the Fox Valley Folk Festival Sacred Harp workshop, September 2005. Thanks to my parents for the photo.
On its own schedule
I was talking to Stella, the counselor I'm seeing, last week, and mentioned that I was imagining that people are getting tired of me being sad. I said I thought maybe people wanted me to be "past it" by now, feeling better, being better, not constantly repeating myself about how much I miss Jerry and how I wish he were still here and we had our old, happy life back again. Although, I pointed out, no one has actually said anything of the sort to me.
But, I went on, what I think it really is is that I am the one who is tired of me being sad. I'm the one who wants to be happy, I'm the one who wants to stop feeling so damaged and wrecked. But I can't make it happen when I want it to. I can actually enjoy things now, but not without a background of sadness, and I never stop being aware of Jerry's absence. I feel apart from the world in a lot of ways - I always have, for that matter, for lots of reasons, but now there's this additional curtain of sadness between me and everyone else. And I want it to go away. But it doesn't. Not yet.
I had a dentist appointment this morning - last time I had my teeth cleaned, in April, the hygienist sent me home with a bag of dry mouth remedies for Jerry, since I'd told her he was having chemotherapy and was having some problems with that. Today she hugged me and told me she was sorry about my husband, and talked about how hard it all must be for me - just said all the right things. You never know who'll do that and who won't - everyone means well, but not everyone can say the right things. Some of the best things I've had said to me have been from people who tell me they have no idea what it must be like to go through this, and how sorry they are that I have to. It's simple, but it's true - no one can know another person's pain, but acknowledging that that pain is there helps - it means it's real, it's not just my imagination or my inability to cope with what life doles out, it's a real thing that I'm going through, not a thing to be compared to anything else, not a thing to be diminished or played down or ignored. It helps to know that people realize that this is just hard.
No word back from the people I interviewed with on Monday. I'm guessing this means they're not offering me a job, which is fine. It would have been nice to be offered it, but it's not the end of the world not to be, either. I'm still very ambivalent about taking any job here in Illinois, since I don't want to be in Illinois long-term, although a good job might change my mind about that somewhat, I suppose. (I did tell them that I started a blog when my husband died, so if you're reading this, people in Des Plaines... uh, hi.) The interview was a good experience, my first job interview in something like 16 years. Onward.
Favorite quote from last night's first episode of the final season of Friday Night Lights, which I get to see now because I have DirecTV: "You love the game of football. You just don't know it yet." I feel like Jerry would possibly understand the new Auburn thing because we both enjoyed watching FNL, and as I told Karen, I consider it my gateway drug into Auburn football - first got used to the fake football on FNL, now enjoying the real thing on Auburn games. Jealous of Coach and Tami now, as I get jealous of any depiction of a marriage these days (crying fit following on the latest episode of Modern Family, for instance). Why do they get to be together and alive and healthy and happy? Why is my marriage over? I don't expect answers to "why" questions, I never really do ask for them, and I never expected life to be fair... but God, it makes me sad.
Yup, still sad. The sadness will do what it wants, on its own schedule, for as long as it takes. And maybe someday it'll be different, less painful, less there. But not now. Not yet.
But, I went on, what I think it really is is that I am the one who is tired of me being sad. I'm the one who wants to be happy, I'm the one who wants to stop feeling so damaged and wrecked. But I can't make it happen when I want it to. I can actually enjoy things now, but not without a background of sadness, and I never stop being aware of Jerry's absence. I feel apart from the world in a lot of ways - I always have, for that matter, for lots of reasons, but now there's this additional curtain of sadness between me and everyone else. And I want it to go away. But it doesn't. Not yet.
I had a dentist appointment this morning - last time I had my teeth cleaned, in April, the hygienist sent me home with a bag of dry mouth remedies for Jerry, since I'd told her he was having chemotherapy and was having some problems with that. Today she hugged me and told me she was sorry about my husband, and talked about how hard it all must be for me - just said all the right things. You never know who'll do that and who won't - everyone means well, but not everyone can say the right things. Some of the best things I've had said to me have been from people who tell me they have no idea what it must be like to go through this, and how sorry they are that I have to. It's simple, but it's true - no one can know another person's pain, but acknowledging that that pain is there helps - it means it's real, it's not just my imagination or my inability to cope with what life doles out, it's a real thing that I'm going through, not a thing to be compared to anything else, not a thing to be diminished or played down or ignored. It helps to know that people realize that this is just hard.
No word back from the people I interviewed with on Monday. I'm guessing this means they're not offering me a job, which is fine. It would have been nice to be offered it, but it's not the end of the world not to be, either. I'm still very ambivalent about taking any job here in Illinois, since I don't want to be in Illinois long-term, although a good job might change my mind about that somewhat, I suppose. (I did tell them that I started a blog when my husband died, so if you're reading this, people in Des Plaines... uh, hi.) The interview was a good experience, my first job interview in something like 16 years. Onward.
Favorite quote from last night's first episode of the final season of Friday Night Lights, which I get to see now because I have DirecTV: "You love the game of football. You just don't know it yet." I feel like Jerry would possibly understand the new Auburn thing because we both enjoyed watching FNL, and as I told Karen, I consider it my gateway drug into Auburn football - first got used to the fake football on FNL, now enjoying the real thing on Auburn games. Jealous of Coach and Tami now, as I get jealous of any depiction of a marriage these days (crying fit following on the latest episode of Modern Family, for instance). Why do they get to be together and alive and healthy and happy? Why is my marriage over? I don't expect answers to "why" questions, I never really do ask for them, and I never expected life to be fair... but God, it makes me sad.
Yup, still sad. The sadness will do what it wants, on its own schedule, for as long as it takes. And maybe someday it'll be different, less painful, less there. But not now. Not yet.
27 October 2010
JME, 2005
Jerry at dinner on the grounds, Liberty Church, Henagar, AL, 2005 (ETA: I think... or is this Pine Grove? I can't tell now!)
25 October 2010
"Storm of historical proportions"
I think this is one of those cases where they meant "historic," not "historical," but that title up there is from a post on weather.com at the moment, describing something that's heading this way. Hurricane-force winds, they're saying. The wind chimes Bill gave us as a housewarming gift when we first moved into this house are certainly clanging away out there on the screened-in porch. Anyway, I can't imagine I won't be losing power if this storm is anything like they're predicting (and the radar maps are definitely showing masses of green out to our west). So... if I had hatches, I'd batten 'em down. Hoping for the best, and see y'all on the other side!
Too obvious
Back in the old days of psychoanalysis in NYC (part of what I considered my real-life audition to be a character in one of Woody Allen's New York-set movies - living on the Upper West Side and seeing an analyst), we used to talk about dreams - like some other aspects of psychoanalysis, I didn't take "dream analysis" too seriously - I found it more an interesting intellectual exercise to see what my sleeping mind had drawn out of my daily experience and how it had transformed it. I still do think about my dreams, when I remember them, to see what I make of them, but sometimes things are just way too obvious.
Last night I dreamt that Jerry and I were at a home store, a "Despot" (as he called the Home Depot), or something of that sort. I was waiting outside while Jerry went in to get a small rug - me waiting out in the car while Jerry ran in to a Despot to pick up something he needed in the shop was a common enough occurrence on our commutes down to the cabinet shop in Elgin. In the dream, I was standing by the door, dressed for work in an office. And I saw a woman walk by wearing jeans and tan work boots, and I felt a pang of envy. Then Jerry emerged from the store, not with a small rug, but with a dark green towel, saying that was all they had.
Not too hard to imagine this has to do with anxiety over today's interview for an office job, and taking yet another step farther from the past 11 years of wearing jeans and work boots every day (black Doc Martens, however, not tan, for what that's worth - haven't had tan work boots since my feet got too wide for the Timberlands I got while I was in college) to work in the cabinet shop. The rug? Last week I bought a small rug to put under the chair in front of my desk, since I noticed the chair legs were beginning to wear the finish on the wooden floor. And I realized it was the first bit of home decorating I've done on my own since Jerry died, the first thing in this house, besides new clothes I've bought and food and the like, that he will never see. The dark green towel? That was Jerry's hand towel at the shop - Seamus and I eventually used it to wrap the box from the funeral home that contained Jerry's ashes, to keep it from rattling around in the urn, and the towel is still in the urn now, among the other keepsakes that are in there so far.
So, there we have it.
The interview in Des Plaines went okay, at least from my perspective. I spoke to three different people. Getting there was fine, but then again it wasn't rush hour. The only glitches were a blocked ramp onto I-90 that forced me to go west a bunch before I could go east, and missing an exit onto Touhy Avenue that I still can't see how I could have made, but thankfully Nuvi kicked in and took me back using the next exit, and I got there in something like 45 minutes, with time to spare before the interview time. No clue what that commute would be in rush hour (and without the detour).
They're interviewing a few other people. There was no discussion of salary, benefits, hours - I figure I'll deal with that if it comes to it. I do think it's a job I'd be comfortable taking, all other things being equal. Not thrilled with the commute, of course. Not thrilled with not working at Wood Bros. with Jerry, though, so absolutely everything these days is an adjustment to changes I don't want.
Last night I dreamt that Jerry and I were at a home store, a "Despot" (as he called the Home Depot), or something of that sort. I was waiting outside while Jerry went in to get a small rug - me waiting out in the car while Jerry ran in to a Despot to pick up something he needed in the shop was a common enough occurrence on our commutes down to the cabinet shop in Elgin. In the dream, I was standing by the door, dressed for work in an office. And I saw a woman walk by wearing jeans and tan work boots, and I felt a pang of envy. Then Jerry emerged from the store, not with a small rug, but with a dark green towel, saying that was all they had.
Not too hard to imagine this has to do with anxiety over today's interview for an office job, and taking yet another step farther from the past 11 years of wearing jeans and work boots every day (black Doc Martens, however, not tan, for what that's worth - haven't had tan work boots since my feet got too wide for the Timberlands I got while I was in college) to work in the cabinet shop. The rug? Last week I bought a small rug to put under the chair in front of my desk, since I noticed the chair legs were beginning to wear the finish on the wooden floor. And I realized it was the first bit of home decorating I've done on my own since Jerry died, the first thing in this house, besides new clothes I've bought and food and the like, that he will never see. The dark green towel? That was Jerry's hand towel at the shop - Seamus and I eventually used it to wrap the box from the funeral home that contained Jerry's ashes, to keep it from rattling around in the urn, and the towel is still in the urn now, among the other keepsakes that are in there so far.
So, there we have it.
The interview in Des Plaines went okay, at least from my perspective. I spoke to three different people. Getting there was fine, but then again it wasn't rush hour. The only glitches were a blocked ramp onto I-90 that forced me to go west a bunch before I could go east, and missing an exit onto Touhy Avenue that I still can't see how I could have made, but thankfully Nuvi kicked in and took me back using the next exit, and I got there in something like 45 minutes, with time to spare before the interview time. No clue what that commute would be in rush hour (and without the detour).
They're interviewing a few other people. There was no discussion of salary, benefits, hours - I figure I'll deal with that if it comes to it. I do think it's a job I'd be comfortable taking, all other things being equal. Not thrilled with the commute, of course. Not thrilled with not working at Wood Bros. with Jerry, though, so absolutely everything these days is an adjustment to changes I don't want.
23 October 2010
Facebook Fail
So is anyone else unable to post anything to Facebook this evening? I know some of you can, because you've posted things on my FB wall (thanks!) - but every time I try, I get "Sorry, unable to update your status. Try again in a few minutes." Can't send messages, can't "like" anything. Weird, and it's been happening for a few hours now. Maybe it's just me. It's odd, because I can do other things on Facebook (endless games of Pathwords, for instance) and I can look at profiles. Just can't post anything. (ETA: Aha. Just found this on Facebook: "Some people are unable to post status updates and receiving the error message: 'Sorry, unable to update your status. Try again in a few minutes.' We are working to resolve the issue." At least it's not just me. Or my computer.)
Anyway.
Mailed the Lookout Mountain Convention 1968 CD off to Disc Makers this morning at a post office desk at a Meijer grocery store, which made me feel good, then did some grocery shopping. Which always makes me weepy, grocery shopping does, because I so often did it with Jerry, or I'm seeing things I think he'd like, or I'm seeing things I know he'd like or did like. Or because I'm shopping for just myself. Which I did all the time before I moved here 11 years ago. But it wasn't the same. Of course.
I made sure to fill up the gas tank so I'm all set for driving to Des Plaines on Monday for the interview. Google Maps puts the trip at about 32 miles, so if this turns out to be a job I want and they do offer it to me, they're going to have to offer a decent salary and benefits package to make it worthwhile to commute that far in two directions every day. I thought 15 miles down to Elgin was a lot! I was definitely spoiled by my walkable commutes in Manhattan - I do miss that a lot, the lack of necessity for a car. Someday I hope I can live like that again.
We will not speak of the baseball game that took place yesterday. Its outcome did not surprise me (for which reason I didn't watch it), but it was still an unwelcome one. At least I can ignore the World Series this year (although a total random antipathy towards Philadelphia has me hoping San Francisco gets into it, despite them having a traitorous former NY team. But as long as someone beats Texas, that'll help get rid of the sting. Which means, awkwardly, rooting for a National League team). ETA: Yay SF!
Better to speak of The Amazing Cam and Auburn, whose victory over LSU I watched this afternoon while Google-chatting through it with Lynne. Again, a totally uncharacteristic thing for us to be having fun with, football, but we did. Still lots of times when I had no idea what was going on. (For instance, can anyone tell me: there was some question over a tackle where they kept talking about where the guy's "forward motion" had stopped, so whether or not the ball would end up where the "forward motion" stopped or where the guy was subsequently dragged back to. So is a tackle considered to have been completed when the ball carrier's "forward motion" stops?) (Also, punts still baffle me. Or rather, what happens at the other end of a punt.)
Boiled some "baby lima beans" I got at Meijer - and somehow managed to let it boil over without ever seeing it happen, even though I was right there, and couldn't figure out why suddenly the burner was out, and only later realized there was beany liquid in the burner pan and down the side of the pot. This is only the second time I've tried to boil something besides water for tea since Jerry died, and the second time what I've been boiling has boiled over with me standing right there. Sigh. Widow brain. Anyway, the "baby lima beans" were theoretically "fresh," except for something on the label I noticed that said the 12 oz of fresh beans "started out" as 8 oz dried. Also, noticed FOOD DYES in the ingredients after I was cooking them, when I would have thought "lima beans" would have been all that was needed. Still, they did taste pretty good, if not as good as the really fresh ones Karen served us in Huntsville last month. And what this means is pretty significant, too: it means I ate vegetables today. It's amazing how someone can be a vegetarian and hardly ever eat enough (if any) vegetables. (Although I was checking out at a grocery store last week and the cashier saw I had an Amy's frozen entree and said her daughter would like that, she's a vegan. Then she said her daughter lives on french fries and cigarettes. Interesting vegan diet.)
Someday I'll be motivated to cook again. Someday.
I miss Jerry. I still walk around this house and wonder why the hell he isn't here. I look at chairs he's sat in, and think, why isn't he still sitting in them? Why isn't he wearing this fleece pullover to bed, why am I wearing it to bed? I don't know if it's the Prozac that has me feeling sort of, I don't know, cotton-balled a bit - as if there's really sharp pain just beyond the edges of what I can feel most of the time, and I know it's there, but I'm not really feeling it as much. Which scares me the same way the initial numbness I felt right after Jerry died did - a fear that that pain is building up and is going to break through the numbness or Prozac cushioning or whatever it is and just lay me out. I really can't win. I'm not crying every single day anymore, but I feel like something's wrong with that, because I know it hurts just as much as ever. But there's this odd cottony cushion between me and the emptiness, me and the loss, me and the absence and the huge gaping hole where my heart was.
I guess that's good. But can you deal with a sharp searing pain if you're not feeling it as acutely? Will it subside the way I hope it will? Is dulling it also deferring it until another time, is it inevitable that it's going to come back and knock me down? Or will I just continue on in this sort of haze of dull loneliness for Jerry?
And will I keep every so often finding myself just suddenly stopping short and wondering, What the hell is going on? Where is Jerry? And having to think consciously back to those moments on 13 June when he stopped breathing forever, those moments where he was lying there dead, to remember why?
Anyway.
Mailed the Lookout Mountain Convention 1968 CD off to Disc Makers this morning at a post office desk at a Meijer grocery store, which made me feel good, then did some grocery shopping. Which always makes me weepy, grocery shopping does, because I so often did it with Jerry, or I'm seeing things I think he'd like, or I'm seeing things I know he'd like or did like. Or because I'm shopping for just myself. Which I did all the time before I moved here 11 years ago. But it wasn't the same. Of course.
I made sure to fill up the gas tank so I'm all set for driving to Des Plaines on Monday for the interview. Google Maps puts the trip at about 32 miles, so if this turns out to be a job I want and they do offer it to me, they're going to have to offer a decent salary and benefits package to make it worthwhile to commute that far in two directions every day. I thought 15 miles down to Elgin was a lot! I was definitely spoiled by my walkable commutes in Manhattan - I do miss that a lot, the lack of necessity for a car. Someday I hope I can live like that again.
We will not speak of the baseball game that took place yesterday. Its outcome did not surprise me (for which reason I didn't watch it), but it was still an unwelcome one. At least I can ignore the World Series this year (although a total random antipathy towards Philadelphia has me hoping San Francisco gets into it, despite them having a traitorous former NY team. But as long as someone beats Texas, that'll help get rid of the sting. Which means, awkwardly, rooting for a National League team). ETA: Yay SF!
Better to speak of The Amazing Cam and Auburn, whose victory over LSU I watched this afternoon while Google-chatting through it with Lynne. Again, a totally uncharacteristic thing for us to be having fun with, football, but we did. Still lots of times when I had no idea what was going on. (For instance, can anyone tell me: there was some question over a tackle where they kept talking about where the guy's "forward motion" had stopped, so whether or not the ball would end up where the "forward motion" stopped or where the guy was subsequently dragged back to. So is a tackle considered to have been completed when the ball carrier's "forward motion" stops?) (Also, punts still baffle me. Or rather, what happens at the other end of a punt.)
Boiled some "baby lima beans" I got at Meijer - and somehow managed to let it boil over without ever seeing it happen, even though I was right there, and couldn't figure out why suddenly the burner was out, and only later realized there was beany liquid in the burner pan and down the side of the pot. This is only the second time I've tried to boil something besides water for tea since Jerry died, and the second time what I've been boiling has boiled over with me standing right there. Sigh. Widow brain. Anyway, the "baby lima beans" were theoretically "fresh," except for something on the label I noticed that said the 12 oz of fresh beans "started out" as 8 oz dried. Also, noticed FOOD DYES in the ingredients after I was cooking them, when I would have thought "lima beans" would have been all that was needed. Still, they did taste pretty good, if not as good as the really fresh ones Karen served us in Huntsville last month. And what this means is pretty significant, too: it means I ate vegetables today. It's amazing how someone can be a vegetarian and hardly ever eat enough (if any) vegetables. (Although I was checking out at a grocery store last week and the cashier saw I had an Amy's frozen entree and said her daughter would like that, she's a vegan. Then she said her daughter lives on french fries and cigarettes. Interesting vegan diet.)
Someday I'll be motivated to cook again. Someday.
I miss Jerry. I still walk around this house and wonder why the hell he isn't here. I look at chairs he's sat in, and think, why isn't he still sitting in them? Why isn't he wearing this fleece pullover to bed, why am I wearing it to bed? I don't know if it's the Prozac that has me feeling sort of, I don't know, cotton-balled a bit - as if there's really sharp pain just beyond the edges of what I can feel most of the time, and I know it's there, but I'm not really feeling it as much. Which scares me the same way the initial numbness I felt right after Jerry died did - a fear that that pain is building up and is going to break through the numbness or Prozac cushioning or whatever it is and just lay me out. I really can't win. I'm not crying every single day anymore, but I feel like something's wrong with that, because I know it hurts just as much as ever. But there's this odd cottony cushion between me and the emptiness, me and the loss, me and the absence and the huge gaping hole where my heart was.
I guess that's good. But can you deal with a sharp searing pain if you're not feeling it as acutely? Will it subside the way I hope it will? Is dulling it also deferring it until another time, is it inevitable that it's going to come back and knock me down? Or will I just continue on in this sort of haze of dull loneliness for Jerry?
And will I keep every so often finding myself just suddenly stopping short and wondering, What the hell is going on? Where is Jerry? And having to think consciously back to those moments on 13 June when he stopped breathing forever, those moments where he was lying there dead, to remember why?
22 October 2010
"He would have wanted you to..."
In general, I'm not a big adherent of the concept of doing things because a dead person "would have wanted it," or "it would have made him happy." The only thing I know for sure that would have made Jerry happy is not to have gotten cancer, not to have suffered so horribly, and not to have died, and to still be here on this earth in his happy marriage with me, building cabinets, singing Sacred Harp, watching his grandchildren grow up, and planting things in the yard. Among all the other things that gave him joy.
But today I've arranged something small that I think would have been something he would have been pleased with: I'm getting together the materials to have more copies of the Lookout Mountain Convention 1968 CD made. For Jerry, putting together that CD and the other one we did, New Year's Eve at the Iveys' 1972, was a true labor of love, and I was sad to realize that we'd run out of copies of the former (still have a bunch of the latter), even though the tracks are still downloadable. I guess I mentioned this in a previous post - anyway, today I corresponded with someone at Disc Makers and got all the details ironed out, and they'll make new copies from a CD I'll send them.
I do think it's something Jerry would have approved of.
But today I've arranged something small that I think would have been something he would have been pleased with: I'm getting together the materials to have more copies of the Lookout Mountain Convention 1968 CD made. For Jerry, putting together that CD and the other one we did, New Year's Eve at the Iveys' 1972, was a true labor of love, and I was sad to realize that we'd run out of copies of the former (still have a bunch of the latter), even though the tracks are still downloadable. I guess I mentioned this in a previous post - anyway, today I corresponded with someone at Disc Makers and got all the details ironed out, and they'll make new copies from a CD I'll send them.
I do think it's something Jerry would have approved of.
Possible dilemma
It's premature of me to worry about this (but when have I ever let that stop me?), but what would I do if I ended up finding a job here that I liked? I say this after a very pleasant half-hour phone conversation with a man at a non-profit medical association and the establishment of an appointment for an in-person interview on Monday. Receptionist job, yes... but possibly also some editing involved, plus he said it's a small staff and everyone does lots of different kinds of work. Plus, he talked about things on my resume (the old, I-don't-necessarily-want-someone-to-choose-it resume) in a way that indicated he understood he was talking to someone with a brain.
Wouldn't that be a strange development?
When he mentioned having me come in to talk in person and I asked when would be a good time, he said "How about in five minutes?" I don't suppose he was serious (plus I live an hour or so away), but my first thought was "I can't! I can't wash my hair!" Because... oh, back in a bit... guy from the Water District just arrived. Which tells you what I was going to say...
... sigh. There's a valve leading to the water softener that's jammed in the off position, and both the Water District guy and the water softener guy say it needs to be replaced. So I've just e-mailed Steve.
At least I have water pressure again (if not softer water).
Wouldn't that be a strange development?
When he mentioned having me come in to talk in person and I asked when would be a good time, he said "How about in five minutes?" I don't suppose he was serious (plus I live an hour or so away), but my first thought was "I can't! I can't wash my hair!" Because... oh, back in a bit... guy from the Water District just arrived. Which tells you what I was going to say...
... sigh. There's a valve leading to the water softener that's jammed in the off position, and both the Water District guy and the water softener guy say it needs to be replaced. So I've just e-mailed Steve.
At least I have water pressure again (if not softer water).
21 October 2010
Oops
Checked my folder of job search materials: a week ago I e-mailed my resume to a Craigslist ad for a receptionist in Des Plaines after all (and the ad specified absolutely nothing about the job). Good thing I checked before asking the guy "So where did you see my resume, anyway?"
Meditation on the Child of Grace
I'm not sure if this link will work if you're not on Facebook. Kelly House has written a song which, she says, didn't start out to be about me and Jerry, but ended up that way. If you know 77t in the Sacred Harp, or you've watched the YouTube videos I've posted of Jerry leading his "Sunday song," this will mean even more to you - and even without that, I think it's an incredibly moving, beautiful song, which had me in tears yesterday when I heard it for the first time. Thank you, Kelly, for sharing it with us.
Try clicking here.
Try clicking here.
Well, it wasn't the batteries, anyway
Water softener guy was just here... and what was wrong with it was basically what I thought must have been wrong, but I didn't know what "wrong" looked like. Basically, when the plumbers were here, they set the softener to "bypass" and turned off the water supply to it, and never turned it back on again when they left. On the plus side, the tech didn't charge me the entire $90+ for an appointment, took $35 in cash (which is what he said he gets for a call), and had me call his office and say I couldn't make the appointment. But I just paid $35 because the plumbers didn't turn the water back on after they had turned it off. On the other hand... considering how much Steve undercharged me, I can't really complain too much... just a bit. [ETA: Of course, Steve has offered to reimburse me for the service call. Because that's the kind of guy he is. Have refused.]
Strangely enough, I have a telephone job interview tomorrow. I say "strangely enough" because I'm pretty sure I never applied for this job, a receptionist position at a medical association in Des Plaines, which Google Maps tells me is a 50-minute commute from here (I don't know if Google Maps takes I-90 rush hour traffic into account). I know nothing about the job except that it's "receptionist," and I don't know where the guy who's calling got my name - my resume is up on Monster and CareerBuilder, so I assume it's from one of those places. Unless it was a vague Craigslist listing I sent the resume to as part of keeping the Illinois Department of Employment Security happy, in case they want to see that I've been applying for jobs. I guess there's a sort of default nervousness that happens when the prospect of any kind of interview looms, but in fact, unless there's an unusually good benefits package attached to this, it's not a job I want - not sure what I want to do with my life, but "receptionist" isn't it. So theoretically I should be pretty relaxed for this "interview." Which is tomorrow morning, either between 8 and 8:30 or between 9 and 9:30. Which one, I don't know for sure, because the guy sent me an "invitation" through Google Calendar, which I'd never used before, and I noticed something to click on to change the invitation to Central Time... which changed it from 8 to 9. But considering the guy was in the Central Time Zone, presumably, when he sent it... eh, who knows? If I actually had to show up somewhere (and cared more), I'd get back in touch and ask. But all I have to do is be here and answer the phone.
Another counselor appointment yesterday, another instance where before it I was thinking I'd stop the appointments, and after it I didn't.
On the way home from the appointment, I bought a new steam iron - my old iron hasn't made steam for as long as I've been in Illinois, but I didn't iron enough clothes for it to matter. Now that daily life no longer includes hours working in a cabinet shop, it's time to get back to ironing again. What other excitement can I report? I sent a box of more of our CDs to CDBaby: people still buy them occasionally, or download the tracks from them. (They're here if you're curious.) I still have to figure out how to get new copies of the Lookout Mountain Convention 1968 CD produced - I presume the templates for the CD insert are on Jerry's PC, which wouldn't go on last time I tried. I haven't done anything about getting it fixed so far; in the meantime, I've contacted a few CD duplicators to see if they can make copies from a hard copy - still waiting to hear back (might not work for the type of small run I'd be looking for).
And so it goes. Still, no sign of Jerry coming back. The Year of Suck, as one of you put it, continues.
Strangely enough, I have a telephone job interview tomorrow. I say "strangely enough" because I'm pretty sure I never applied for this job, a receptionist position at a medical association in Des Plaines, which Google Maps tells me is a 50-minute commute from here (I don't know if Google Maps takes I-90 rush hour traffic into account). I know nothing about the job except that it's "receptionist," and I don't know where the guy who's calling got my name - my resume is up on Monster and CareerBuilder, so I assume it's from one of those places. Unless it was a vague Craigslist listing I sent the resume to as part of keeping the Illinois Department of Employment Security happy, in case they want to see that I've been applying for jobs. I guess there's a sort of default nervousness that happens when the prospect of any kind of interview looms, but in fact, unless there's an unusually good benefits package attached to this, it's not a job I want - not sure what I want to do with my life, but "receptionist" isn't it. So theoretically I should be pretty relaxed for this "interview." Which is tomorrow morning, either between 8 and 8:30 or between 9 and 9:30. Which one, I don't know for sure, because the guy sent me an "invitation" through Google Calendar, which I'd never used before, and I noticed something to click on to change the invitation to Central Time... which changed it from 8 to 9. But considering the guy was in the Central Time Zone, presumably, when he sent it... eh, who knows? If I actually had to show up somewhere (and cared more), I'd get back in touch and ask. But all I have to do is be here and answer the phone.
Another counselor appointment yesterday, another instance where before it I was thinking I'd stop the appointments, and after it I didn't.
On the way home from the appointment, I bought a new steam iron - my old iron hasn't made steam for as long as I've been in Illinois, but I didn't iron enough clothes for it to matter. Now that daily life no longer includes hours working in a cabinet shop, it's time to get back to ironing again. What other excitement can I report? I sent a box of more of our CDs to CDBaby: people still buy them occasionally, or download the tracks from them. (They're here if you're curious.) I still have to figure out how to get new copies of the Lookout Mountain Convention 1968 CD produced - I presume the templates for the CD insert are on Jerry's PC, which wouldn't go on last time I tried. I haven't done anything about getting it fixed so far; in the meantime, I've contacted a few CD duplicators to see if they can make copies from a hard copy - still waiting to hear back (might not work for the type of small run I'd be looking for).
And so it goes. Still, no sign of Jerry coming back. The Year of Suck, as one of you put it, continues.
18 October 2010
Not a straight line
I've read enough, heard enough to know that grief isn't a linear process... it's not a matter of, yesterday I felt bad, today I feel better, tomorrow I'll feel even better than that, and so on until I reach the elusive destination of "happiness." Instead, as I keep finding out, it's a matter of a little progress in a better direction, a lot of slipping in a worse direction, a lot of flailing around, a lot of paralysis. Yesterday I was thinking the Prozac must finally be kicking in, things were feeling a bit, I don't know, different somehow. Today I'm reminded that even if the Prozac does help things, it's not going to bring Jerry back, and as long as Jerry is still dead, right now "happy" isn't in the cards. Distraction, maybe; happiness, not yet.
I napped a bit this afternoon - just felt so tired I had no choice, which is usually how napping happens for me - Jerry was a champion napper, could sleep for hours in the afternoon and then get up for a while and then go back to bed and get an entire night's sleep. Me, if I nap, I wake up groggy and useless. But occasionally I'll be so tired I'll just crawl into bed, and that happened today. This morning I actually did sweep some of the leaves off one of the walkways and onto the back of the patio, because I thought it was going to rain, but it didn't, and now there's no rain in the forecast until Saturday (but then every day after that for a while). Soaked the metal plug from the bathroom sink in vinegar and water to get the hard water deposits off it, something I've meant to do for months. Called and arranged for the water softener company to send someone out, since the softener still isn't running - the guy will come some time on Thursday.
Yesterday I actually got the vacuum cleaner out and vacuumed the first floor of the house. I don't know when I last did that - before Jerry died, for sure, and for sure before he went into the hospital.
I napped a bit this afternoon - just felt so tired I had no choice, which is usually how napping happens for me - Jerry was a champion napper, could sleep for hours in the afternoon and then get up for a while and then go back to bed and get an entire night's sleep. Me, if I nap, I wake up groggy and useless. But occasionally I'll be so tired I'll just crawl into bed, and that happened today. This morning I actually did sweep some of the leaves off one of the walkways and onto the back of the patio, because I thought it was going to rain, but it didn't, and now there's no rain in the forecast until Saturday (but then every day after that for a while). Soaked the metal plug from the bathroom sink in vinegar and water to get the hard water deposits off it, something I've meant to do for months. Called and arranged for the water softener company to send someone out, since the softener still isn't running - the guy will come some time on Thursday.
Yesterday I actually got the vacuum cleaner out and vacuumed the first floor of the house. I don't know when I last did that - before Jerry died, for sure, and for sure before he went into the hospital.
17 October 2010
16 October 2010
94
June Cleaver got to live to 94.
Spent the afternoon watching Cam Newton beat Arkansas. Well, Cam Newton and the Arkansas defense. See how I sound like I know what I'm talking about? I actually am beginning to follow things a bit better (and go running to Google every time I don't know a term, like "special teams" or "turnover" or "pass interference," or need to find out what on earth is happening in general). Today's was quite a game, with murky calls and lots of interceptions by Auburn and lots of Cam Newton smiling. (Figured out today I was 27 when he was born. God, I'm old.) And a final score that sounded more like something out of a basketball game.
Whatever that thing out there is that's cheeping... it's at it again. Shone a flashlight out the window at the trees just now, but didn't see anything.
Still no sign of life from the water softener. I need to see when it's set to run - I can't get it to work manually. Anyway, it has until Monday and then I'm calling the repair guy.
Wondering if starting in on season 1 of Six Feet Under will turn out not to be such a good idea. So far, some crying triggered by bodies on gurneys. But I'm going to keep going for a while, see how I like it (so far, so good).
Tired. And feeling like I'm living in some sort of weird limbo, like this isn't real life somehow. I don't know if I think real life will return when Jerry does, or if I think I'll emerge from this strange state some time in the future without him. All I know is, I can't spend the rest of my life feeling like this... or there isn't much point to it. I realize that it's most likely that I won't (so I'm told, and so I read). But it's hard not to think like a child and feel like nothing will ever change, nothing will get better. Even while I know already that things have changed, even since June. I do some things now I couldn't have imagined doing right after Jerry died, stupid things perhaps, but if you'd told me I'd go out and buy new clothes, get a haircut I like, have my eyebrows done, watch football games... care enough about anything to do even these superficial things... I wouldn't have thought it would be possible. Still a long slog ahead, I know, to get through to what I hope will be a happier existence, a life, even. Still a ways to go to accept that Jerry isn't coming back. Still a long path to travel to have memories of Jerry that make me smile without also breaking my heart in a million pieces every time I think of him, millions of times every hour. But I think I at least see the beginning of that path... and possibly have taken a step or two towards it, if not on it.
Spent the afternoon watching Cam Newton beat Arkansas. Well, Cam Newton and the Arkansas defense. See how I sound like I know what I'm talking about? I actually am beginning to follow things a bit better (and go running to Google every time I don't know a term, like "special teams" or "turnover" or "pass interference," or need to find out what on earth is happening in general). Today's was quite a game, with murky calls and lots of interceptions by Auburn and lots of Cam Newton smiling. (Figured out today I was 27 when he was born. God, I'm old.) And a final score that sounded more like something out of a basketball game.
Whatever that thing out there is that's cheeping... it's at it again. Shone a flashlight out the window at the trees just now, but didn't see anything.
Still no sign of life from the water softener. I need to see when it's set to run - I can't get it to work manually. Anyway, it has until Monday and then I'm calling the repair guy.
Wondering if starting in on season 1 of Six Feet Under will turn out not to be such a good idea. So far, some crying triggered by bodies on gurneys. But I'm going to keep going for a while, see how I like it (so far, so good).
Tired. And feeling like I'm living in some sort of weird limbo, like this isn't real life somehow. I don't know if I think real life will return when Jerry does, or if I think I'll emerge from this strange state some time in the future without him. All I know is, I can't spend the rest of my life feeling like this... or there isn't much point to it. I realize that it's most likely that I won't (so I'm told, and so I read). But it's hard not to think like a child and feel like nothing will ever change, nothing will get better. Even while I know already that things have changed, even since June. I do some things now I couldn't have imagined doing right after Jerry died, stupid things perhaps, but if you'd told me I'd go out and buy new clothes, get a haircut I like, have my eyebrows done, watch football games... care enough about anything to do even these superficial things... I wouldn't have thought it would be possible. Still a long slog ahead, I know, to get through to what I hope will be a happier existence, a life, even. Still a ways to go to accept that Jerry isn't coming back. Still a long path to travel to have memories of Jerry that make me smile without also breaking my heart in a million pieces every time I think of him, millions of times every hour. But I think I at least see the beginning of that path... and possibly have taken a step or two towards it, if not on it.
15 October 2010
Someone stop him
Why do they keep letting James Cameron write screenplays? Oh, that's right - he makes gazillions of dollars on his movies. Just watched Avatar, which I hadn't planned to do ever (not after sitting through Titanic) - probably I missed a lot seeing it on a 13-year-old TV's relatively small screen, definitely 2-D, but oh my God, as I've bellowed on Facebook, the man cannot write. At least not in any way resembling the way normal people talk who aren't flat stereotypes of good guys and bad guys with the vocabulary of not very bright 12-year-old boys, or maybe those 12-year-old boys' ideas of what a movie character should sound like. Cringed my way through the entire thing. Ah, and a quick Google reveals that yes, Sam Worthington is indeed Australian, which explains some weird accent things that started happening in the last third of the movie. I know most people are just bowled over by the environment and creatures, and I do think perhaps if I'd seen it on the large screen, and in 3D, I might feel a bit different. But between the dialogue and the total one-dimensional cardboardness of the bad guys and it taking Our Hero to rally the Blue Meanies, I mean Na'vi, it was just a bit of a slog.
OK, maybe between this, Facebook, and an e-mail message in the middle of the movie, I've gotten this out of my system.
Just had a heart-pounding episode, which is still not quite past yet. Sort of like, the movie is over and Jerry still isn't here, so a mild panic attack ensues. Just what I need.
Steve was here this morning, and thank heavens he had that wire to take down, because if he'd just come to the house, looked in the brine tank and said "You don't have any salt," I would have been mortified. Not sure if putting the salt into the tank this afternoon will fix the problem - if it doesn't, and the water softener doesn't go through its process at some point soon, I'll call the guy who fixed it last time - as it happens, two years ago tomorrow, according to a receipt I found in Jerry's water softener folder.
I went off to the local Gap store this afternoon with "old denim," as they put it, to be recycled - they're collecting it and it gets used to make insulation for low income housing... or something like that. So I gathered up jeans that are too young for me, too big, too tight, and brought them over, then found they didn't have the ones I wanted to buy on sale in my size, so I fired up the GPS and headed out to the big mall in this area, Woodfield Mall in Schaumburg. Between the GPS and the trips to Midway and to Alabama I've made since August, I do have to say that one thing that's different about me since Jerry died is that I'm less hesitant to drive places by myself that involve getting on expressways around here. Still not entirely thrilled with it, but I'd only ever gone to Woodfield once in the 11 years I've been here, and today I just decided on the spot to go. Ended up getting the jeans one size smaller than I'd planned, after being told by the sales clerk who looked at me in them that if I got the larger size they'd fall off me. Uh, yeah... that's what the other pair I already have does, in fact, but they're really comfortable... so now I have a pair for when I'm feeling, uh, bigger, and one for when I'm feeling smaller, I guess. (I'm also guessing they didn't actually have the size I was asking for in stock after all.)
Yup, heart still pounding.
OK, maybe between this, Facebook, and an e-mail message in the middle of the movie, I've gotten this out of my system.
Just had a heart-pounding episode, which is still not quite past yet. Sort of like, the movie is over and Jerry still isn't here, so a mild panic attack ensues. Just what I need.
Steve was here this morning, and thank heavens he had that wire to take down, because if he'd just come to the house, looked in the brine tank and said "You don't have any salt," I would have been mortified. Not sure if putting the salt into the tank this afternoon will fix the problem - if it doesn't, and the water softener doesn't go through its process at some point soon, I'll call the guy who fixed it last time - as it happens, two years ago tomorrow, according to a receipt I found in Jerry's water softener folder.
I went off to the local Gap store this afternoon with "old denim," as they put it, to be recycled - they're collecting it and it gets used to make insulation for low income housing... or something like that. So I gathered up jeans that are too young for me, too big, too tight, and brought them over, then found they didn't have the ones I wanted to buy on sale in my size, so I fired up the GPS and headed out to the big mall in this area, Woodfield Mall in Schaumburg. Between the GPS and the trips to Midway and to Alabama I've made since August, I do have to say that one thing that's different about me since Jerry died is that I'm less hesitant to drive places by myself that involve getting on expressways around here. Still not entirely thrilled with it, but I'd only ever gone to Woodfield once in the 11 years I've been here, and today I just decided on the spot to go. Ended up getting the jeans one size smaller than I'd planned, after being told by the sales clerk who looked at me in them that if I got the larger size they'd fall off me. Uh, yeah... that's what the other pair I already have does, in fact, but they're really comfortable... so now I have a pair for when I'm feeling, uh, bigger, and one for when I'm feeling smaller, I guess. (I'm also guessing they didn't actually have the size I was asking for in stock after all.)
Yup, heart still pounding.
14 October 2010
Great High Mountain
I'm not totally sure about the copyright ramifications of posting this photo - I bought it from Rahav Segev, the photographer who took it at the Beacon Theatre (pre-renovation) in NYC in May 2004. I'm sure if there's a problem with it, I'll eventually hear about it. Anyway... this is a bunch of musicians from the Great High Mountain tour (music from and related to the movies O Brother, Where Art Thou? and Cold Mountain) and assorted Sacred Harp singers singing 282 in the Sacred Harp, "I'm Going Home." Jerry and I were able to participate in four of the concerts on that tour, in Chicago, Milwaukee, New York and Council Bluffs (which, we discovered after we decided to do it, is on the other side of Iowa - but we'd had so much fun at the previous three concerts that we drove all the way across Illinois and Iowa anyway just to do it one last time). Some of you will see yourselves in this photo. Jerry is on the far left (stage right), next to Riley Baugus; that's me front and center, next to Tim Eriksen. Me, awkwardly, the only person who neglected to take her backstage pass sticker off her dress before heading onto the stage - there it is right below the neckline of my dress. The way my thoughts run these days, a quick glance at the photo shows me two other people I know of besides Jerry who have died since this photo was taken. Anyway... hiding among the musicians (many of them were very uncertain about singing Sacred Harp and definitely huddled behind the Sacred Harp singers when they could) are Alison Krauss and members of Union Station, the Nashville Bluegrass Band, Reeltime Travelers and Ollabelle, among others (some of those bands are now no more).
Singing in these concerts, and our participation in the concert in LA of music and readings associated with Cold Mountain, which ended up in the extra features on the Cold Mountain DVD, were a lot of fun - definitely something we never would have imagined getting to do. I'm so glad I got to share that with Jerry.
Not quite done yet
Realized last night as I was falling asleep that I hadn't heard the water softener going through its process since the plumbers were here. So I went downstairs today and looked at it and had no clue why it isn't working. And I also noticed that the leftover electrical cable that Steve was going to remove is still there. So yes, Steve is scheduled to come back to the house tomorrow morning. I figured there'd be more to do on the house eventually, but I didn't expect it to be so soon!
Fringe is on in 15 minutes. Jerry really enjoyed that show, and really enjoyed calling it Fring, with a hard g at the end. Just another example of the silliness with language that gave him such joy (and me too. I've been keeping a list of his expressions, pronunciations, word-manglings and things he just enjoyed saying, as well as the many nicknames I had for him). I miss our evenings on the couch, watching things together, always holding hands. I miss our silliness together. I miss everything. I miss him.
By the way: Happy birthday, Daddy! Bet ten years ago you never thought that when you got to 70 you'd be getting ready for another NYC marathon...
Fringe is on in 15 minutes. Jerry really enjoyed that show, and really enjoyed calling it Fring, with a hard g at the end. Just another example of the silliness with language that gave him such joy (and me too. I've been keeping a list of his expressions, pronunciations, word-manglings and things he just enjoyed saying, as well as the many nicknames I had for him). I miss our evenings on the couch, watching things together, always holding hands. I miss our silliness together. I miss everything. I miss him.
By the way: Happy birthday, Daddy! Bet ten years ago you never thought that when you got to 70 you'd be getting ready for another NYC marathon...
13 October 2010
Chi Chi Chi, le le le
Just watched the last rescuer emerge from that gold and copper mine in Chile, as Anderson Cooper babbled. (How is it that I didn't know until yesterday or the day before that Gloria Vanderbilt is Anderson Cooper's mother? I usually end up with trivia like that in my brain, but somehow it had escaped my notice before.) Nice that something in this world had a happy outcome. Also happy to hear the last rescuer out tell the president of Chile that mines need to operate safely. Good for him.
I'm sitting in the living room, wondering what sort of beast or bird is out in the yard making an insistent loud cheeping sound - it's been happening every night for weeks now, and only after dark. An owlet? That's what I keep thinking it might be. And I keep wanting to tell Jerry. Of course.
Today is the 13th of the month - four months now since Jerry died. And I'm right on schedule to be more depressed, I guess, according to what's out there to read about bereavement. Had a session with the counselor this afternoon, and while I can't say for sure that the sessions are improving things at all, I'm still finding them worthwhile while they're happening, so again, to her question "Next week?" I said yes. The most helpful thing about today's session was being reminded that there's really not any rush for me to make huge life decisions. I can't help feeling like there is - like I must decide where I'll live right away, now - but I feel totally paralyzed at the same time, since, as I've said before, I am not yet ready even to go through a single backpack of Jerry's, let alone an entire house full of things. I can't move his slippers from next to his night stand, I can't even throw out the wrapped-up half of a Heath bar he left next to his computer. I can't face having someone come to the house to work on the yard (Steve gave me a name and phone number), which would clearly need to be done before I even considered putting the house on the (extremely lousy) market, because I can't face having someone change anything that Jerry planted out there - even though the yard is being totally overrun by the buckthorn he was constantly battling against.
I feel torn because every day that I don't make a decision is a day I'm still here in this house without him. But I'm not ready to leave it yet. But I'm alone in this house without him. But I can't bear to leave.
So, yeah. Torn. Paralyzed. Slightly frantic, but in a lethargic, exhausted kind of way. And sort of wishing I could just go to sleep for a while and then wake up in a few years with everything having been decided and dealt with and settled.
Got home to find a letter from Blue Cross, wanting information on any medical providers I might have seen in the past five years that weren't listed on my original application. Sounds to me like they really really want to find reasons not to pay out on claims, or to rescind my policy entirely. As it is, I'm going to be over $400 out of pocket just for the baseline bloodwork the primary care doctor ordered. And that's on top of the hundreds of dollars the ultrasound is going to cost me (and the result of that ultrasound was that nothing needs to be done, the fibroid is 2 cm larger than last year, but since it's not causing new symptoms, I can continue to watch and wait and hope menopause arrives in time to avoid having to do anything about it). Anyway, I called Blue Cross to ask what this was about, and the woman I finally got hold of, after minutes of press-one-for-this and press-three-for-that had ticked by, said this was triggered by a claim that included a diagnosis of "depressive disorder" - and they wanted to see if that was a pre-existing condition, I suppose. I said "Oh - well, my husband died four months ago - I didn't have that before." And she did the usual "Oh, I'm so sorry" thing. But they'll still go ahead and see if they can somehow disqualify me and claim it was a pre-existing condition that I didn't mention and rescind my coverage, I'm sure. They'd have to lie to do it, though (which I'm sure wouldn't be unusual). After all, I'm the idiot who was honest on her application and listed all sorts of pre-existing stuff and now has a permanent rider excluding something I occasionally do need diagnostic work for.
[Assume infuriated rant about the US healthcare industry here. Saw a few moments of Smiles of a Summer Night as I channel-surfed this evening and thought maybe I should move to Sweden, even though the language sounds rather insane and I don't speak a word of it. No, I lie, I can say "no," based on having just heard it. And "dream," thanks to having looked it up for that blog title a few weeks back when I dreamt about Skarsgård. But I'd have to get used to a totally different pronunciation of my own name.
And yes, I'm rambling. Does depression cause incoherent stream of consciousness and lots of non sequiturs? Widow-brain strikes again. And speaking of widow-brain, I'm just glad it was a rather empty intersection and no cops were around when I drove on through that stop sign over the weekend. Got halfway down the block when I realized I had done it. I really need to work on focussing better.]
The power went off just after 6 p.m., and I have no idea why - no storms, no particularly strong wind. It came back on just after 8 p.m. Followed by the usual routine of resetting clocks on the stove, the microwave, the Bose, the answering machine, the VCR/DVD player, the Zen alarm clock, and the clock by the bed.
In other news... “James D. Enright and Mary A. Culhane were united in marriage on the 13th day of September, 1868 at Holy Family Church, 10180 W. Roosevelt, Chicago, Illinois in the presence of Thomas Madigan and Mary Madigan." There's nothing intrinsically heartbreaking about that bit of information, nothing except the timing of our having it. My parents are both serious genealogists, and in recent years my father had been delving into Jerry's family history, Jerry not having the time to work on it much himself. The biggest question for Jerry was always where in Ireland his great grandfather had come from. He mostly thought Clare, but also thought that Cork had come up in family lore too. When we were in Clare in 2003, we met with a genealogical service and he paid them to search records for Enrights, but with no luck.
We still don't know (yet?) where James D. Enright, Jerry's great grandfather, came from, but now we know where he was married and when. And Jerry didn't live long enough to know that my father had tracked that information down. And he would have been so excited to know it.
I'm sitting in the living room, wondering what sort of beast or bird is out in the yard making an insistent loud cheeping sound - it's been happening every night for weeks now, and only after dark. An owlet? That's what I keep thinking it might be. And I keep wanting to tell Jerry. Of course.
Today is the 13th of the month - four months now since Jerry died. And I'm right on schedule to be more depressed, I guess, according to what's out there to read about bereavement. Had a session with the counselor this afternoon, and while I can't say for sure that the sessions are improving things at all, I'm still finding them worthwhile while they're happening, so again, to her question "Next week?" I said yes. The most helpful thing about today's session was being reminded that there's really not any rush for me to make huge life decisions. I can't help feeling like there is - like I must decide where I'll live right away, now - but I feel totally paralyzed at the same time, since, as I've said before, I am not yet ready even to go through a single backpack of Jerry's, let alone an entire house full of things. I can't move his slippers from next to his night stand, I can't even throw out the wrapped-up half of a Heath bar he left next to his computer. I can't face having someone come to the house to work on the yard (Steve gave me a name and phone number), which would clearly need to be done before I even considered putting the house on the (extremely lousy) market, because I can't face having someone change anything that Jerry planted out there - even though the yard is being totally overrun by the buckthorn he was constantly battling against.
I feel torn because every day that I don't make a decision is a day I'm still here in this house without him. But I'm not ready to leave it yet. But I'm alone in this house without him. But I can't bear to leave.
So, yeah. Torn. Paralyzed. Slightly frantic, but in a lethargic, exhausted kind of way. And sort of wishing I could just go to sleep for a while and then wake up in a few years with everything having been decided and dealt with and settled.
Got home to find a letter from Blue Cross, wanting information on any medical providers I might have seen in the past five years that weren't listed on my original application. Sounds to me like they really really want to find reasons not to pay out on claims, or to rescind my policy entirely. As it is, I'm going to be over $400 out of pocket just for the baseline bloodwork the primary care doctor ordered. And that's on top of the hundreds of dollars the ultrasound is going to cost me (and the result of that ultrasound was that nothing needs to be done, the fibroid is 2 cm larger than last year, but since it's not causing new symptoms, I can continue to watch and wait and hope menopause arrives in time to avoid having to do anything about it). Anyway, I called Blue Cross to ask what this was about, and the woman I finally got hold of, after minutes of press-one-for-this and press-three-for-that had ticked by, said this was triggered by a claim that included a diagnosis of "depressive disorder" - and they wanted to see if that was a pre-existing condition, I suppose. I said "Oh - well, my husband died four months ago - I didn't have that before." And she did the usual "Oh, I'm so sorry" thing. But they'll still go ahead and see if they can somehow disqualify me and claim it was a pre-existing condition that I didn't mention and rescind my coverage, I'm sure. They'd have to lie to do it, though (which I'm sure wouldn't be unusual). After all, I'm the idiot who was honest on her application and listed all sorts of pre-existing stuff and now has a permanent rider excluding something I occasionally do need diagnostic work for.
[Assume infuriated rant about the US healthcare industry here. Saw a few moments of Smiles of a Summer Night as I channel-surfed this evening and thought maybe I should move to Sweden, even though the language sounds rather insane and I don't speak a word of it. No, I lie, I can say "no," based on having just heard it. And "dream," thanks to having looked it up for that blog title a few weeks back when I dreamt about Skarsgård. But I'd have to get used to a totally different pronunciation of my own name.
And yes, I'm rambling. Does depression cause incoherent stream of consciousness and lots of non sequiturs? Widow-brain strikes again. And speaking of widow-brain, I'm just glad it was a rather empty intersection and no cops were around when I drove on through that stop sign over the weekend. Got halfway down the block when I realized I had done it. I really need to work on focussing better.]
The power went off just after 6 p.m., and I have no idea why - no storms, no particularly strong wind. It came back on just after 8 p.m. Followed by the usual routine of resetting clocks on the stove, the microwave, the Bose, the answering machine, the VCR/DVD player, the Zen alarm clock, and the clock by the bed.
In other news... “James D. Enright and Mary A. Culhane were united in marriage on the 13th day of September, 1868 at Holy Family Church, 10180 W. Roosevelt, Chicago, Illinois in the presence of Thomas Madigan and Mary Madigan." There's nothing intrinsically heartbreaking about that bit of information, nothing except the timing of our having it. My parents are both serious genealogists, and in recent years my father had been delving into Jerry's family history, Jerry not having the time to work on it much himself. The biggest question for Jerry was always where in Ireland his great grandfather had come from. He mostly thought Clare, but also thought that Cork had come up in family lore too. When we were in Clare in 2003, we met with a genealogical service and he paid them to search records for Enrights, but with no luck.
We still don't know (yet?) where James D. Enright, Jerry's great grandfather, came from, but now we know where he was married and when. And Jerry didn't live long enough to know that my father had tracked that information down. And he would have been so excited to know it.
12 October 2010
Us, 2003
Me and Jerry co-chairing the Midwest Sacred Harp Singing Convention in Chicago, May 2003. Photo by Martha Beverly.
Again with the batteries
Turns out, the problem with the garage door was that the batteries that power the electric eyes (learned today that that's what you call the sensors at the bottom) were out of juice. So after all the work Steve did straightening out the rails (which he said they needed done anyway), it took a couple of minutes just now for him to fix the main problem.
It feels weird not to have any tradesmen or contractors scheduled to come to the house now - but I'm sure, given that this house is over 80 years old, and was still a work in progress when Jerry died, there'll be more to do eventually.
Leaves were coming down yesterday in torrents - seems to have tapered off today, but the walkways are covered in them. I'm working on convincing myself to get out there with a broom and sweep the walks off, at least. Tomorrow? I'll no doubt have to have someone come clean out the newly installed gutters after the last of the leaves have come down, too.
77° out, according to the Dashboard on the Mac. Strange October.
It feels weird not to have any tradesmen or contractors scheduled to come to the house now - but I'm sure, given that this house is over 80 years old, and was still a work in progress when Jerry died, there'll be more to do eventually.
Leaves were coming down yesterday in torrents - seems to have tapered off today, but the walkways are covered in them. I'm working on convincing myself to get out there with a broom and sweep the walks off, at least. Tomorrow? I'll no doubt have to have someone come clean out the newly installed gutters after the last of the leaves have come down, too.
77° out, according to the Dashboard on the Mac. Strange October.
11 October 2010
10 October 2010
Another Sunday evening
Off the top of my head, I can't remember how many weeks it is now since Jerry died. It's Sunday night, it's just past 10, so it's another week gone by since his last breath... but I'd have to look at the calendar to figure it out. Sixteen weeks? I know that Wednesday will be four months, going by dates. But I can't remember how many weeks.
I'm tired. No matter how much sleep I get, I'm always tired, it seems like. I'm not motivated to move. I keep thinking, keep saying I should start exercising again. I should clean the house. I should think about the future. I should plan things. But I just feel so exhausted, like doing anything at all takes more effort than I can muster. The NIH website says Prozac can take four to six weeks to start working.
Backslid in a major way on the eating front this weekend. Lots of bingeing, and stuff I didn't really even want to eat that much. Plan to start counting points again tomorrow. I also still get up in the morning and take a shower every day. I did laundry yesterday. I'm not huddled in bed in a fetal position.
But I'm not happy. Surprise, surprise. Some things change, others don't. I've managed to begin reading again, a bit, in small doses - almost done with the latest Sookie Stackhouse novel, and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo finally got here from Portland the other day, for my next read. Not sure I'm ready to go back to A Clash of Kings, which I was reading when Jerry was hospitalized and then found I couldn't concentrate enough to stick with. Another widow book came from Portland too, Widows Wear Stilettos, which seems worthwhile, based on a quick glance-through. The latest book that's going to finally be the one to reveal the secret to surviving this hell. Although I suppose I'm still here, so that means I am surviving. I need to figure out how to do more than just survive, though. For one thing, I have to figure out how to want to. And it can't be in the hope that Jerry will walk back in my door, that this has all been a horrible nightmare and all I have to do is wake up and life will be back to the way it should be.
Some things change, not necessarily for the better, or the easier. I think I must still not totally buy this idea that Jerry is never coming back - am I repeating myself? Of course I am. I must still not buy it, because I find myself having moments in which I feel this awful terror deep inside me, moments in which I think I'm actually believing he's dead. Feels like a howl, like the stab of a knife, like a scream. And those moments pass, and then I'm back to my more numb state, which isn't as numb as it used to be, but is still an existence in which some extremely basic truths are just out of the frame, a little fuzzy, something hovering in my peripheral vision, and I'm aware they're there, but I just am not really looking at them. Not wanting to.
Why is his wedding ring on a chain around my neck instead of on his finger? What kind of strange time is this in which his glasses have been resting there on the nightstand for almost four months now - how is he making do without them? His briefcase is in the dining room next to the secretary desk he made - why isn't he taking it to work every day? Why are his work boots sitting there too, with mine? Where is he?
If I repeat all this over and over again, will it start to make sense? Will it start instead to lose its meaning entirely, the way a word does when you look too closely at it? Like the word "dead" - if I just keep staring at it and thinking about the letters and repeating it over and over again, will it stop meaning that I'll never see him again?
Tired. So tired.
I'm tired. No matter how much sleep I get, I'm always tired, it seems like. I'm not motivated to move. I keep thinking, keep saying I should start exercising again. I should clean the house. I should think about the future. I should plan things. But I just feel so exhausted, like doing anything at all takes more effort than I can muster. The NIH website says Prozac can take four to six weeks to start working.
Backslid in a major way on the eating front this weekend. Lots of bingeing, and stuff I didn't really even want to eat that much. Plan to start counting points again tomorrow. I also still get up in the morning and take a shower every day. I did laundry yesterday. I'm not huddled in bed in a fetal position.
But I'm not happy. Surprise, surprise. Some things change, others don't. I've managed to begin reading again, a bit, in small doses - almost done with the latest Sookie Stackhouse novel, and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo finally got here from Portland the other day, for my next read. Not sure I'm ready to go back to A Clash of Kings, which I was reading when Jerry was hospitalized and then found I couldn't concentrate enough to stick with. Another widow book came from Portland too, Widows Wear Stilettos, which seems worthwhile, based on a quick glance-through. The latest book that's going to finally be the one to reveal the secret to surviving this hell. Although I suppose I'm still here, so that means I am surviving. I need to figure out how to do more than just survive, though. For one thing, I have to figure out how to want to. And it can't be in the hope that Jerry will walk back in my door, that this has all been a horrible nightmare and all I have to do is wake up and life will be back to the way it should be.
Some things change, not necessarily for the better, or the easier. I think I must still not totally buy this idea that Jerry is never coming back - am I repeating myself? Of course I am. I must still not buy it, because I find myself having moments in which I feel this awful terror deep inside me, moments in which I think I'm actually believing he's dead. Feels like a howl, like the stab of a knife, like a scream. And those moments pass, and then I'm back to my more numb state, which isn't as numb as it used to be, but is still an existence in which some extremely basic truths are just out of the frame, a little fuzzy, something hovering in my peripheral vision, and I'm aware they're there, but I just am not really looking at them. Not wanting to.
Why is his wedding ring on a chain around my neck instead of on his finger? What kind of strange time is this in which his glasses have been resting there on the nightstand for almost four months now - how is he making do without them? His briefcase is in the dining room next to the secretary desk he made - why isn't he taking it to work every day? Why are his work boots sitting there too, with mine? Where is he?
If I repeat all this over and over again, will it start to make sense? Will it start instead to lose its meaning entirely, the way a word does when you look too closely at it? Like the word "dead" - if I just keep staring at it and thinking about the letters and repeating it over and over again, will it stop meaning that I'll never see him again?
Tired. So tired.
08 October 2010
Wondering
So at what point does repeating the phrase "I miss my honey" out loud, obsessively, when you're by yourself in the house, again and again, over the course of each day, become behavior to worry about...?
Not ready yet
Jerry and I got travel backpacks a year or two ago after I read a review of them somewhere online - we'd gotten so tired of maneuvering our roller bags on the streets of Manhattan and in the subway, and having our stuff on our backs instead sounded like a good idea (and it turns out I do prefer it - I think Jerry did too). Anyway, but now I have two backpacks and only need one, so I was going to send one off to Lynne - decided I'd do it today. Got Jerry's out of the closet and noticed it was heavy, so I opened it and found that his travel toiletries kit, which he kept in a green leather fanny pack, was inside, where he'd left it after our last trip, to New York last New Year's. Opened the pack, in a case of not thinking ahead again, and burst into tears. Zipped it back up, put it back in the backpack, decided I'm not ready to deal with things like that yet.
I can't believe he's actually dead. I can't believe he's never coming back.
Almost all the house repairs are done - except for the garage door. Steve came out yesterday and worked on it for a while, but wasn't able to get it fixed, so he's called the guy he uses to deal with garage doors and that guy will call me. Otherwise... all done for now. Can't really think of a good excuse not to get to work cleaning the basement, among other things, now. But not sure when I'll be motivated to do it.
I think I may be sleeping a bit better (I've been getting tired and going to sleep before midnight, which is progress), but I'm still waking up way too early in the morning and am unable to get back to sleep, since my brain starts whirring the minute my eyes open.
I can't believe he's actually dead. I can't believe he's never coming back.
Almost all the house repairs are done - except for the garage door. Steve came out yesterday and worked on it for a while, but wasn't able to get it fixed, so he's called the guy he uses to deal with garage doors and that guy will call me. Otherwise... all done for now. Can't really think of a good excuse not to get to work cleaning the basement, among other things, now. But not sure when I'll be motivated to do it.
I think I may be sleeping a bit better (I've been getting tired and going to sleep before midnight, which is progress), but I'm still waking up way too early in the morning and am unable to get back to sleep, since my brain starts whirring the minute my eyes open.
06 October 2010
The Dance
Disclaimers: I don't actually like the song these lyrics are from. Not a Garth Brooks fan, and don't care for the tune. But a few lines from these lyrics were posted on a widow-related page on Facebook today and just made me think of the obvious: this hell I'm living in now hurts so much, and I miss Jerry more and more every moment - but if this is the price I have to pay for having had the chance to love that man and share those years with him and be his lucky wife - and if the alternative would be not to have had those things at all, and have been spared this pain?
Looking back on the memory of
The dance we shared 'neath the stars above
For a moment all the world was right
How could I have known that you'd ever say goodbye
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 have had to miss the dance
Holding you, I held everything
For a moment wasn't I a king
But if I'd only known how the king would fall
Hey who's to say? you know I might have changed it all
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 have had to miss the dance
Yes my life, it's better left to chance
I could have missed the pain
But I'd have had to miss the dance
(written by Tony Arata)
Looking back on the memory of
The dance we shared 'neath the stars above
For a moment all the world was right
How could I have known that you'd ever say goodbye
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 have had to miss the dance
Holding you, I held everything
For a moment wasn't I a king
But if I'd only known how the king would fall
Hey who's to say? you know I might have changed it all
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 have had to miss the dance
Yes my life, it's better left to chance
I could have missed the pain
But I'd have had to miss the dance
(written by Tony Arata)
05 October 2010
What I'd like to tell Jerry today
So many things every day I wish I could tell Jerry. I spent our life together telling him most things that came into my head - which probably drove him a bit crazy ("He played John Henry in The Sarah Connor Chronicles!" "Ugh, really cramped today..." "I never had my hair cut until I was 19... oh, I told you that already...? Four times...?"). But he was so patient... let me prattle on and either listened or didn't, but never complained.
I want to tell him today that I had a lovely trip to Rhode Island over the weekend. The weather was mostly nice - rain on Friday, but mostly sun the rest of the time, cool, New England-y autumn. The trip to the spa in Warwick on Friday for facials was fun (thank you again, Lynne!), visiting with friends was fun, the New England Sacred Harp Singing Convention was well-organized and mostly really really good (five anthems sung on Saturday was five more anthems than I would have liked, and the one really annoying man who, as he always does at every singing I see him at, insisted on repeating the number and often the name of every song called whether the number needed to be repeated for people who hadn't heard it or not - and there's no need to say the name, period - was just as annoying as he always is - and of course he led one of the anthems). You were remembered there with fondness, Jerry, I'd tell him - during the memorial, Kelly mentioned the light that shone in your eyes when you led, and I just love that other people saw that in you too. And of course I cried, not during 77t but right after it, and during the memorial, and strangely enough when someone led 178 on the Sunday, and I know you were tired of 178 and I don't associate that song with you, but I cried anyway, and then the next song led was 300, and that's the song I called at the New England Convention when it was in Rhode Island last, four years ago, and I had you come up to lead it with me and you ran away with it, which was so endearing, you just couldn't help but lead it the way you do, with such energy and enthusiasm (I had to be alert to stay out of your way). And I cried in the airport yesterday while waiting to board my flight back to Chicago. I'd actually noticed that in the days leading up to the trip I hadn't cried, and thought it was, well, interesting. But as ever, being at a Sacred Harp singing loosened things up. Which was good. It's good to feel, even though feeling so, so sad all the time is exhausting. I do look forward to a time when it won't be all the time. I can't imagine I'll never not feel sad without you, but feeling other things without always being sad - that's what I want.
I sang bass with my father for a bit on Sunday - I'd only sung the bass part a few times, in the songs with no alto part or on one or two songs where the alto part is just way too boring or I've sung it too many times and I was curious to try bass instead of tenor - but this was the first time I sang bass for song after song, and it was really fun. The bass does swoop a lot from low to high or vice versa in ways the alto doesn't, and sometimes I just don't quite get that interval right because it's not going where I expect it to, and my sight reading is more like sight guessing. But definitely fun.
I liked being in Providence. It's a nice city, and I'm wondering if that too might be a possibility for a place to live. Something to consider. Huntsville, Providence... everything is so wide open. And I just don't yet feel ready to make any decisions.
Sunday night I felt pretty awful - definitely a cold coming on. I feel like my body somehow convinced itself not to get sick from the time Jerry was diagnosed with cancer - as if it knew I just couldn't afford not to be there for him, as if it knew that his health was the important thing. I was just surprised I didn't collapse physically right after he died. But anyway, Lynne convinced me to take Boiron Oscillococcinum, despite my extreme skepticism about homeopathic medicine... and damned if I'm not feeling better than I was Sunday, ever since yesterday morning. I'm still what Jerry and I called "shnortigated" (yes, we were just too cute for words, I know), and my throat is a tiny bit sore, but I'm downing mug after mug of Lemon Echinacea Throat Coat Tea and more of the Oscillococcinum (and I have not the first clue how you pronounce that) every six hours or so, and so far I seem to be warding off worse symptoms. (Is that a chill I just felt? Hmmmm....)
Next trip planned so far is down to Alabama again in November for a longer stay, to see more of Huntsville itself. It looks like I'll be going to an Auburn football game, too, which, in another example of something I'd definitely want to tell Jerry, I'm getting very excited about. (He might, again, think I'd lost my marbles... but actually I think he'd have found it exciting too.) Not sure if I'll insert another trip into the calendar before then. To be seen.
Now to work on getting over the feeling that my reward for getting through all these months of sadness and confusion and chaos is going to be Jerry coming back to me. Because my brain has been indulging in that idea recently. That all I have to do is get through it and there he'll be.
I want to tell him today that I had a lovely trip to Rhode Island over the weekend. The weather was mostly nice - rain on Friday, but mostly sun the rest of the time, cool, New England-y autumn. The trip to the spa in Warwick on Friday for facials was fun (thank you again, Lynne!), visiting with friends was fun, the New England Sacred Harp Singing Convention was well-organized and mostly really really good (five anthems sung on Saturday was five more anthems than I would have liked, and the one really annoying man who, as he always does at every singing I see him at, insisted on repeating the number and often the name of every song called whether the number needed to be repeated for people who hadn't heard it or not - and there's no need to say the name, period - was just as annoying as he always is - and of course he led one of the anthems). You were remembered there with fondness, Jerry, I'd tell him - during the memorial, Kelly mentioned the light that shone in your eyes when you led, and I just love that other people saw that in you too. And of course I cried, not during 77t but right after it, and during the memorial, and strangely enough when someone led 178 on the Sunday, and I know you were tired of 178 and I don't associate that song with you, but I cried anyway, and then the next song led was 300, and that's the song I called at the New England Convention when it was in Rhode Island last, four years ago, and I had you come up to lead it with me and you ran away with it, which was so endearing, you just couldn't help but lead it the way you do, with such energy and enthusiasm (I had to be alert to stay out of your way). And I cried in the airport yesterday while waiting to board my flight back to Chicago. I'd actually noticed that in the days leading up to the trip I hadn't cried, and thought it was, well, interesting. But as ever, being at a Sacred Harp singing loosened things up. Which was good. It's good to feel, even though feeling so, so sad all the time is exhausting. I do look forward to a time when it won't be all the time. I can't imagine I'll never not feel sad without you, but feeling other things without always being sad - that's what I want.
I sang bass with my father for a bit on Sunday - I'd only sung the bass part a few times, in the songs with no alto part or on one or two songs where the alto part is just way too boring or I've sung it too many times and I was curious to try bass instead of tenor - but this was the first time I sang bass for song after song, and it was really fun. The bass does swoop a lot from low to high or vice versa in ways the alto doesn't, and sometimes I just don't quite get that interval right because it's not going where I expect it to, and my sight reading is more like sight guessing. But definitely fun.
I liked being in Providence. It's a nice city, and I'm wondering if that too might be a possibility for a place to live. Something to consider. Huntsville, Providence... everything is so wide open. And I just don't yet feel ready to make any decisions.
Sunday night I felt pretty awful - definitely a cold coming on. I feel like my body somehow convinced itself not to get sick from the time Jerry was diagnosed with cancer - as if it knew I just couldn't afford not to be there for him, as if it knew that his health was the important thing. I was just surprised I didn't collapse physically right after he died. But anyway, Lynne convinced me to take Boiron Oscillococcinum, despite my extreme skepticism about homeopathic medicine... and damned if I'm not feeling better than I was Sunday, ever since yesterday morning. I'm still what Jerry and I called "shnortigated" (yes, we were just too cute for words, I know), and my throat is a tiny bit sore, but I'm downing mug after mug of Lemon Echinacea Throat Coat Tea and more of the Oscillococcinum (and I have not the first clue how you pronounce that) every six hours or so, and so far I seem to be warding off worse symptoms. (Is that a chill I just felt? Hmmmm....)
Next trip planned so far is down to Alabama again in November for a longer stay, to see more of Huntsville itself. It looks like I'll be going to an Auburn football game, too, which, in another example of something I'd definitely want to tell Jerry, I'm getting very excited about. (He might, again, think I'd lost my marbles... but actually I think he'd have found it exciting too.) Not sure if I'll insert another trip into the calendar before then. To be seen.
Now to work on getting over the feeling that my reward for getting through all these months of sadness and confusion and chaos is going to be Jerry coming back to me. Because my brain has been indulging in that idea recently. That all I have to do is get through it and there he'll be.
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