Grief Storm

Saturday had all the necessary ingredients to be a good day.

I started the day with a massage - a good, deep-tissue, 90 minute relaxation session - then came home to take a post-massage nap. After I woke up, I went over to the castle, and walked in just in time to hear the "whoosh" of the burners as Albert worked out the last of the installation kinks that he'd been fighting for almost three days, and fired up the new boiler. We'd managed to get it in before the temps dropped low enough for long enough to bring the house down to freezing; the plumbing and the plants were safe. *huge sigh of relief*

So, why did a random comment from my brother a few hours later - that the castle's problems will very shortly not be my problems - have me running from the place one short step ahead of a storm of tears?

I was fit company for no one that evening as the storm raged in my soul. Fortunately for the health of my relationships, I was alone as I fixed and ate dinner. I texted the kids to let them know food was ready if they wanted it, but didn't want to talk to anyone. I was unaccountably angry, and any words I would have said would have been hurtful.

After I ate, I sat down on the sofa under a blanket with a glass of wine, put on a headset, and listened to my favorite calming music on repeat. I took out my journal and proceeded to try to figure out what was lurking beneath my over-reaction to an innocent (and true) comment. It took me a while, but I finally managed to dig on down to the real reason I was crying.

Turns out the answer was:  Libby.

My heart follows the rhythm of the seasons closely. I hadn't been watching the calendar, but it had, and the day after tomorrow will mark the second anniversary of her death. The tie-in to Ted's remark isn't overly clear to me, but I'm pretty sure it goes along with the fact that none of the problems she had before she got sick are still her problems. She's beyond problems.

I carry a good-sized chunk of survivor's guilt - why is she dead while I am still alive? Why her and not me? We share many of the same genetics. Why was my cancer the sort that could be beat into remission and hers the type that, despite early detection and good care, bulldozed an unstoppable path through her systems?

My kids are grown, hers still need her.

Not right, not fair.

I didn't try to stop or avoid the swirl of emotions. I just kept writing, naming the feelings as they surfaced and acknowledging their presence. Eventually, several hours later, the winds calmed, leaving my eyes and heart sore but also more at peace.

It's not right and it's not fair. But near as I can ascertain, what's right and fair have very little to do with who dies when in this world. Maybe someday I will learn the whys behind the reasons I'm still here and she is gone, but none of us gets out of this alive and the best thing I can do to honor her is to live the days I have.

Libby, I miss you. lots. Where ever it is your spirit has travelled, I hope you are happy and at peace. I hope you're having fun.  Love you....... ... .. .

Advent 2020

I rather like the liturgical season of Advent, with its emphasis on waiting. In holiday seasons past, stopping each Sunday to light a candle and say a prayer has been a welcome moment of respite from the hustle and bustle of life.

This year, I'm going to have to dig a little deeper.

This year, I've been waiting.   and waiting.    and waiting.        Waiting for an answer to when this virus might be brought under control. Waiting to hear when the vaccine will be widely available. (effective options will soon exist - that's HUGE!) Waiting for election results.  Waiting to get the castle habitable, so I can get back to figuring out what I want to be when I grow up.

Why would I want to acknowledge yet another season of waiting?

Ah. This is waiting of a different sort. Advent isn't tap-your-foot-please-hurry-this-along waiting. (That's the type of waiting I've been doing all year.) Advent is pause-and-appreciate-the-here-and-now waiting.

My year has been woefully short of the Advent sort of waiting. While there were advantages to my headlong plunge into remodeling work - my days have been full, and after moving all day, I've been sleeping well despite the miasma of general anxiety lingering in the air - I haven't stopped much.

And my spirit knows it.

More and more, the problem of the moment is overwhelming. I grow short on patience. It's harder to get me to take care of my daily round of chores; I don't wanna. I don't want to get out to walk in the cold - until I get out there, when I thoroughly enjoy the crisp air. I am tired and grumpy and out of sorts and don't want to get out of bed in the morning.

It's time to stop and listen for the gifts the Advent season wants to bring to my life. Time to stop and light a candle and watch it flicker without distracting myself by reading the news of the moment. Time to look inside and see where I am; to see if any part of me is clearer yet on the next direction I want to take.

Time to pause. Appreciate the here and now. 

Appreciate that, despite the odds, I am still here.  Living.  Now.

Good Is.

 

Happy Thanksgiving, anyways!

Usually my Thanksgiving is a celebration of the best of the printable sort of f-words.

Family.     Friends.    Food.

That's it.

No drama, no unmeetable expectations. Just a lively gathering of people I love, too much delicious food, and pie to top it all off.

As with so many of my other plans for the year, COVID-19 is putting a drag on this year's celebration. With the virus running rampant, I am planning to follow the CDC's advice and celebrate with a very small group. There will be just four of us, and since one of the four doesn't live here, we will keep our masks on unless we're eating. When we eat, we will sit far apart, like we don't like each other or something. Bah, humbug!

In the spirit of the holiday, I'm trying not to focus on the parts I'll miss. (Based on the above paragraph, I'm clearly having a little trouble with this part, but I'm trying...) Rather, I'm doing my best to be aware of the abundance of good things in my life for which I am truly thankful.

I will still get to enjoy the too much good food part. And part of my family will be here. I won't be eating alone.

There will be lots of leftovers. I like Thanksgiving leftovers. (Good thing - is it even possible to fix a turkey dinner for four???)

I miss my people, but also know they are still there. This virus shall pass, and when it does, I will get to see them again, and we will share real hugs - none of this elbow bumping nonsense

Everyone I know who has gotten the virus is recovering. So far, so good.

The vaccine news is excellent - it's easier to hunker down knowing there will be an end to the hunkering.

Young Joe is showing no lasting effects from his premature entrance to this life. One of the best parts of the castle project is the part where I've gotten to watch him grow from day to day. (He's walking already!) The kid is just stinkin' cute. Not that I'm biased.

My health is good, I have enough money to pay the bills and still have a little left over for some of the things I want. My house is cozy, and on this cold, rainy, November evening, my furnace is chugging away without grumbling. The lights are on, and I can get hot and cold water just by turning on a faucet.

Beauty Is and Good Is and Love Is and no stupid virus can touch these, my bedrock beliefs.

So, Happy Thanksgiving (anyways)!

Almost there

Despite all the delays, the castle is almost ready for Joe and his family to move on in. The unseasonably warm weather has not only prevented the pipes from freezing while the boiler is on order, but has allowed us to continue working to get the place ready for move in.

The roofers finished up today. I was surprised to find myself a bit wistful as I watched them drive off. I'll miss young Mike's (they're both Mikes) cheerful good mornings, their frequent forays through the house looking to borrow this or that tool. I've learned to like and respect the two of them. Turns out, when we hired them, we hired a couple of artists disguised as tile roofers. They did beautiful work - the house hasn't been so spiffy looking in decades.

I've finished replacing broken window panes (seventeen windows in all), and have put the windows back where they belong. Joe's worked hard over the past few weeks to refinish the worst of the upstairs floors. The main hallway is almost ready to paint, which just leaves the kitchen to be made workable.

I don't want to jinx anything, but I think this unlikely venture might actually turn out well. Hard to believe.

As I've been working the last couple of days, my mind has started to wander to what's next. The sun comes out later and later each morning; it is almost done with its journey to the south. Its light is long and slanted. Winter is around the corner. 

While the darkest days are still to come, there is already a glimmer on the horizon heralding the new season to come. The latest news on the vaccines in development is excellent, and rumor has it they will be widely available by summer-ish. So, I need to lay low for a while longer, but it will not last forever.

I'm a bit concerned about where my mood will head once everyone leaves and I've lost my place to go and get something done each day. I'm not going to see much of anyone after they move out, and travel is out of the question until the virus settles down again. So, as a depression preventative, I've asked them if I can keep the cats through the winter, and they've agreed.

I figure it'll be good to have some companionship to help me through the dark winter days. Curling up on the sofa under a blanket turns into less of a pity party and more of a meditative experience when I have a cat to purr at me - and, historically, the cats have been more than willing to perform that role.

It feels good to have taken a positive step to take care of myself.

The virus has gotten around to infecting people I know and love. So far, they're all doing OK, but it's scary nonetheless. You all stay safe out there, hear????

Election Results

As I waited for the election results last week, I had the hardest time. I woke up Wednesday, didn't read anything, but looked at the map showing the race close and Trump in the lead in most of the swing states and immediately fell into a deep funk. I thought I'd been wrong to hope things would or could change.

Trump has been so divisive, his handling of the virus so inept, his manner so crude, his lies so plentiful, I quit listening to him speak long ago. It's been a tough four years for me. The way he treats women brings back memories of the bad ol' days when I thought I had to put up with harassment at work as part of the price of employment, of the days when it was customary for men to get away with judging women based on their appearance, not the competencies we brought to our jobs.

I have tried and tried, but still don't understand how so many of my fellow Americans - some seventy million of them per the election results - see him so differently than I. Character counts, dammit!

I'm not overly prone to anxiety, but at one point this week I ended up taking an anti-anxiety med: I curled up under my soft white blanket that Libby gave me, and one of the cats came and purred at me for thirty minutes. I focused on breathing and connecting to what is real for me - and lo and behold, it worked. I got up much calmer and more centered than I had been when I laid down. (I thought about contacting my insurance company to see if they'd cover any part of the med - say, the kitty litter? - then thought better of it...)

As the week went on, and the numbers continued to shift, I began to believe, despite myself, that not all hope was lost. Then came Saturday's news that Biden had won Pennsylvania, and my heart leapt with joy. I wasn't alone in wanting, needing, a more competent leader to be President, after all. Seventy-four million (and counting) people in this country agreed with me. As I listened to his speech that evening, the tension I hadn't allowed myself to acknowledge leaked out my eyes.

He smiles real smiles. He speaks in full sentences. He gives his family real hugs. He spoke of unity and building bridges. He is already assembling a group of people who will listen to science and work to lead us out of the shadow of the coronavirus, which is starting to strike too close to home. Instead of denying climate change exists, he will delve into ways we can, maybe perhaps, still soften the blow it is poised to deliver to our world. I know he has a number of daunting uphill battles to fight, but he will at least TRY to work with those who disagree with him.

Let the healing begin!

Time Shift

I was good about getting up and going all summer long. My main motivation was avoiding the worst of each day's heat while working at the castle; the thought of melting in the afternoon heat was enough to get me up and going at the crack of dawn most days. When the heat left for the year, so did my early morning starts. I've still been getting over there, but my arrival time has been inching later and later, in step with the delayed rising of the sun.

So, when the time shifted an hour later this past Sunday, I decided one of the perks of retirement was getting to ignore the time change if I want to. There's no one but me who cares what time I go to bed and get up these days, so why push myself through the grogginess of a week of getting used to staying up an hour later and sleeping in if I don't have to. So far it's been two whole days, and it's working. Without changing a thing, I've moved my wake time back from eight to seven, and getting a better start to my day. I feel more virtuous because I'm starting earlier!

As I was plastering walls today, I was ruminating on the whole charade. What's so magic about getting up 'earlier'? I still have the same number of hours in each day. I'm not punching a time clock nor is there anyone who particularly cares what time I start work. I'm working the same number of hours; starting at the same relative time I have for the past month. What part of starting at 'eight' instead of 'nine' is better?

All I could figure is that it's one of those rules I've carried over from my younger days. Sleeping in is bad, getting up early is good. It'll be interesting to see how long past the day the kids move out my newfound virtue will last. I'm guessing it won't be long. There will be no one to tell on me if I roll over and watch the sky for a while in the morning instead of hopping out of bed to be productive. I think perhaps I've overdone the whole productivity thing this year anyways.

It'll be interesting to see if I can convince me it's OK to stop doing for a while, and just let myself be. I don't think I'll be able to do nothing for long - I tend to slide down into depression without a to-do list, but I'm looking forward to changing the tenor of the items on the list. 

Perhaps instead of opening the lids on paint cans, I will open the lid of my piano and see if my brain and fingers can figure out how to work together and make some music once again. Instead of putting paint on walls, I will put it on paper and work on watercolors. (My friend, Rose, has a zoom art class she's been taking that I can join, so this one is high on the probability list.)

Instead of shifting the hours I sleep and wake, I will shift the activities I do within the hours. Back to Retirement 2.0 (COVID version) with me. Soon. I'm looking forward to the day...

Castle Progress Update

The project is coming along. We were close, so close, to having the house ready for them to move into by my overly ambitious target date of the first week of November. And then. (Life seems to have an endless supply of 'and thens'.)

In this case, it's the boiler. We'd had the furnace guy (who is also the electrician) look at the system earlier this year. At that time, he thought it could be helped to limp along until next year, at which point Joe and Rita planned to replace it. 

Time went on, we finished cleaning out the basement, took out a few walls. As I was cleaning up the debris, I found some tree roots from the zombie tree we cut down in the spring coming up through a crack in the basement floor (it REALLY doesn't want to die). The roots ran along the base of the concrete stair, then wound their way into the belly of the boiler. As I pulled them out, I felt some resistance; they'd wound their way around something on the inside.

At the time, I joked that we needed to make sure Albert took a good look at the unit before we turned it on, to make sure the roots weren't integral to the operation of the unit. Turns out I wasn't joking.

When he came back, just before the cold snap hit, to make sure all was OK, he got a better look at the unit than he'd been able to get with the wall blocking a good view of the burners and the inside of the box. The expression on his face was priceless as he tried to come up with a tactful way to tell us he'd rethought his conclusion from the spring, and really, really didn't want to even attempt to fire it up. The roots had wound their way into the rust of the burners - he no longer wanted to even attempt a repair.

So, we started looking at the tag, to dig into the details of when it was installed, how old it was. Turns out it was made before manufacturers started putting serial numbers on boilers - ?sometime in the sixties? I was already convinced we needed a replacement; that clinched the deal.

So, Albert is out looking for the best deal he can find on a new unit, and our local weather decided to turn unseasonably cold. With no way to heat the house, we've been closely watching a couple of thermometers we brought over, to make sure the plants, plumbing and paint supplies are safe. So far, so good; the house has stabilized around 40 degrees and tonight should see the last of the below freezing temps for the next few weeks.

But plaster and paint work can't be done when it's below 50, and so my work there has come to a screeching halt. I'm not complaining - I've been over there almost every day for the last three months; it feels good to just stay home for a bit. This latest wrinkle will push the move date out by a couple of weeks, but if that's the worst thing to happen to me this month, I'll be a happy camper.

The work will still be there when the temps go back up later this week. In the meantime, I have time to stop for a few days; to walk in the snow, to snuggle down in a blanket with a good book. I'd be a fool to complain.

One step at a time, more often forward than back - eventually, we'll get there.

A Helping Hand

Sometimes, we all need a friend to lend a helping hand.

For the last few months, I've been honored to have two of them - Ian and Tom - who have come to help at the castle pretty regularly.

There's still a lot of work to be done there, the remains-to-be-done list is dauntingly long, and I tend to get overwhelmed and begin to believe it's NEVER GOING TO GET DONE!!!!!, no matter how hard I work at it.

Then Tom shows up on Friday morning and we pick a spot to work on for the day. He is cheerful and brings a great attitude with him every time he shows up. He's also good at fixing stuff. He's the reason the trash is gone from the house and garage. He'd show up at 7:30 and we'd haul buckets until around lunchtime. It's not that I'm incapable of hauling buckets on my own, it's that company makes the job go much faster. His willingness to tackle the mess made the piles seem smaller from the get-go. This past week was the first one where there were no remaining rooms of trash to be emptied - it felt odd to not have to dig out the wheelbarrow and buckets. (Instead, we took down all the broken windows for repair.)

Ian has also been showing up most weeks. He has zero experience working on a house, but is willing to do the grunt cleanup work that needs doing. He's peeled most of the wallpaper from the entry hallway, a necessary and tedious first step in being able to repair the walls. He's washed down woodwork, helped me clean up the garden, and last week, started cleaning a good decade's worth of dust and lost items out of the main bedroom radiators. (Sunglasses, old photos, and an old pill bottle were the most noteworthy finds.)

They freely give of their time and talent, asking nothing in return.

They remind me there was life before the isolation of COVID-19. My people are still there, I will get to laugh and eat and sit freely with them again one day, God willing.

They remind me not everyone is only in it for what they can get - sometimes, some people show up just to see what they can give.

They remind me progress, slow, steady progress, is being made. When they show up each week, and properly admire the work that's been done in their absence, it gives me before and after markers and I can see that, yes, I am not where I was yesterday. And, since I know they're coming, it give me motivation to be sure to have something done I can show therm.

The grace they've brought cannot be commanded or earned; it can only be freely given.

I don't feel worthy of their gifts, but I sure do appreciate them.

Plans? Who Needs Plans?

I retired a year ago. At the time, I was a little concerned because I hadn't made any real plans for how I would spend my time. I'd done a lot of reading on retirement prep, and the consensus there was that winging it is a bad idea.

Hmmm. The consensus didn't take the pandemic into account. Any plans I would have made wouldn't have come to fruition anyways in this topsy-turvy year. 

I spent the first few weeks of my retirement last October finishing up painting the exterior of my house, and visiting Alaska for a friend's daughter's wedding. November and December flew by as they always have, but with less time pressure around getting ready for the holidays. January and February, I enjoyed sleeping in and taking an art class, reacquainting myself with pencil and paper. By March, I was ready to start making some plans. I flew out to California intending to spend a few days on the beach figuring out what I wanted to do next.

Turns out, Covid-19 decided what I wanted to do next was to go into lockdown mode. Instead of spending my California days indolently lounging on the sand, I spent them helping my daughter and granddaughter adjust to staying at home. It wasn't what I'd planned, but I enjoyed myself thoroughly. I came back home at the end of the month to an empty calendar; the classes I'd planned to take had all been canceled.

So, I decided to help Joe and Rita out for a month or so with their castle restoration effort. A month turned into eight, and we're targeting for them to move in the first part of November. (Yes, it's really that close! Not like it'll be done or anything, but most of the second story will be livable and the kitchen and bathroom will be functional. I'm excited for them - it'll be a cool place to live!)

So, here I am. A year into retirement, I am right where I started. I have the same list of perhaps and wishes and maybes I had put together a year ago. Heck, give or take a few items, I have the same list of house fix-it tasks I did then.

But this time around, I'm not as concerned about those non-existent plans of mine. Winging it has served me well. Despite everything, life is good, and I am grateful. 

Instead of fretting about canceled opportunities, I've been taking things one day at a time. I will continue to do so until either the virus catches me despite my precautions, or a vaccine comes onto the scene. I do hope to sign up for some online classes. Rumor has it that I can zoom into any number of yoga and art classes to occupy my mind once I don't have the baby and his parents around to distract me. 

Those comfy jammie pants I bought last year are still serviceable, and I have started to gather a new stack of books to read. That's enough plans for me for now. 

Here's to year 2 of retirement - I'm looking forward to the gifts it will bring!

Same Ol', Same Ol'

I keep losing track of the days, the weeks. (According to the interweb, I have a lot of company.) My days have become a round of get up, work at the castle, come home, play with the baby for a bit, do the necessary chores to keep my house from falling apart, stretch, go to bed, repeat. I've worked there almost every day since my return from Minnesota in early August; it's a lot like having a job! The only thing that seems to change is the household chore of the day, and when that's the high point of my day, I think I need a bit more variety, just sayin'.

It feels as if I make no progress at the castle, but I know that's not accurate. I have proof otherwise - I've started jotting down what I did each day in my calendar, and when I look back, the progress tracks are clear. 

The bathroom tile is almost complete; we just need to set the shelves and install the grout. When I finished work today, three of the upstairs rooms were ready to paint. I've started to set goals for myself - the current one is to have the rooms painted by Friday. I've been telling people I'd like to have it move-inable by the end of October. I know it's a stretch, but if Joe and I keep at it, it's not out of the realm of possibility.  (I'll keep you posted!)

I found a happy spot in the garden there earlier this week. A friend of mine had brought over lunch, and I was trying to find a quiet place we could sit, so wandered with him to the lower level of the garden. There's a curved stone bench there, the seat protected from the wind that day by the high stone back. I'd never sat on it before, just cleaned around it as I tried to reclaim the garden from the zombie trees. (also known as the Tree of Paradise, they are persistent weed trees - some of the ones we cut down late in the spring sprouted baby trees from the trunks lying on the ground, both cut edges exposed to the air. I had to admire their grit and determination to survive, even as I figured out ways to make them go away and stay gone.)

We sat, distributed our lunch, and started talking. As we talked, I looked ahead and realized I could only see one building from my vantage point - the well-maintained back side of a hospice center. The rest of my vision was filled with a sea of trees filling the slope down to the park behind the house. I could hear children laughing in the distance as they explored the playground there, a happy and welcome sound. The sun was warm on my face, the sky a beautiful autumn blue, studded with fluffy white clouds.

I swear I felt happy vibes emanating from the stone seat I was sitting on. I like to think someone spent a lot of contented minutes there enjoying a pocket of wilderness in the heart of the city. I also like to think the bench welcomed our presence; it's not been sat on for a lot of years. I think it's been a little lonely.

I've decided to do my best to make sure it doesn't get too lonely again this season. Already, I've stolen some time from more important work to clean up the dead treelets (I sprayed them a month ago with Roundup, it killed over half of the zombie babies), to pick up the sticks littering the ground, to gather the stone fragments into a pile and to remove the inevitable pieces of broken glass and bits of mortar. I can't count this effort as work, though I've already filled four leaf bags with stick fragments. Rather, I count it as tending my soul as well as the soul of the garden - both a bit tattered and unkempt, both ready for the darkness of the winter season soon to come - for myself, I hope it will be a time of rest, reflection and renewal.

In the meantime, I am reminded to stop and see the beauty in front of me - nature is showing her brightest colors as she prepares for winter's rest.

Beauty Is.