Diary of Not a Wimpy Widow

Category: Uncategorized

  • At the White House: Journal of the Plague Years

    February 22, 2021

    Five hundred thousand lost

    Amazing grace the trumpets sound

    The candles flicker

    The Marines salute

    How can we keep from weeping

  • Hugs

    February 19, 2021

    It has been almost a year since someone has hugged me. 
    Since someone wrapped me in their arms and given me a warm hug.
    A year.

    And I have been missing hugs so much
    remembering what it felt to be held that warmly
    and feeling so sad for what I have been missing 
    that the very word hug brings tears to my eyes.

    But today for the first time in a year I have thought about 
    the other side of the coin
    of what it means to give a hug

    For this past year I have not been able to receive a hug
    But also not able to give a hug
    A hug that says you are my friend
    a hug that says I know you are sad
    that change is in the wind and it is okay
    that life is wonderful, congratulations!
    that friends are all around
    that you are not alone
    All will be well
    You are loved
    I am here

  • Release

    February 11, 2021

    Roll up the sleeve
    Second jab in the arm

    Bandaid pressed down

    There’ll be bluebirds over
    The white cliffs of Dover

    Somewhere over the rainbow 
    Bluebirds fly

    Zippety Do Da
     Zippety Day

    My oh my what a wonderful Day

    You are my sunshine

    Gene Kelly and Danny Kaye
    Tap dancing with us

    Six feet apart

    Canes tapping on tile floor
    Walkers keeping time

    Masks in place

    My only sunshine

    Out the doors and into the parking lot

    We’re out of the woods we’re out of the dark

  • Inauguration

    January 20, 2021

    And so tomorrow

    I will not wake up early and check my phone

    for the latest terrible thing that has struck my country

    Doomscrolling in the dawn of each new day

    But will greet the sunrise and yawn

    And go back to sleep, the cat curled by my feet

    Secure that someone with knowledge

    Has the wheel of this ship of state.

  • To My Revolutionary Patriot Thomas Turner

    January 6, 2021

    Let me lead you Thomas Turner
    Through the marble halls of the Capitol
    The seat of our democracy
    This New Nation you helped create

    Windows have been smashed
    Blood smeared on statues
    Door jambs wrecked by metal bats
    Feces tramped on marble floors

    Not by the British who lit fires here
    In 1814

    And never by the Confederates— 
    Although their traitors’ flag paraded through these halls
    On this January 6th
    Past the portrait of Charles Sumner
    Supporter of the Union,
    Almost cane-whipped to death by a Son of the South

    But by self-proclaimed patriots
    Insurrectionists
    Seeking to overturn a national election 
    And the votes of 80 million Americans

    Blood was shed here

    Hold me in your arms oh great-grandfather
    And let me cry upon your shoulder 

  • In Place of Hugs…the Year of the Pandemic

    December 13, 2020

    the doctor cutting away the dead flesh of the skin tear

    the nurse rubbing my calf with cream and swiftly wrapping it ankle to knee

    the technician applying gel and pressing the probe hard against my veins

    the phlebotomist swabbing my arm and skillfully inserting the needle

    the hematologist patting my shoulder after listening to my lungs

    my cat gently tapping my chin after being told how beautiful he is

    Kristin Moyer

  • Early Morning Prayer

    November 22, 2020

    Not quite six o’clock.
    I lie in bed, eyes closed:

    Grateful for the rain falling on the roof
    And for the song of the sparrow outside my window,
    Grateful for the cool air I breathe in and breathe out,
    For the comfort of warm flannel sheets,
    For the cat curled into the comma of my body
    Grateful for the blood pulsing through my veins
    For my brain, stomach, heart, liver
    For all the cells and within them
    The tiny mitochondria beating out energy

    Grateful for this life.

    Kristin Moyer

  • Harbingers of Hope

    October 31st, 2020

    Zinnias

    In the neglected garden
    Amidst the tangled weeds
    The zinnias
    Late-planted and despaired of
    Lift their bright heads
    Gold and red and lemon
    Saying
    We are here! we are here!
    See! we are beautiful

    Blue Moon

    In the dark
    I look for the moon
    Clouds thick in the night
    No blue moon for me

    But clouds part
    The lustrous moon shines
    Bright and full
    Saying
    Do not give up
    I am here

  • JuJuBee and Me

    October 12, 2020

    JuJuBee and her brother Yangtze came to live with me in June of 2015. They were Siamese rescue cats, found in a field in North Carolina, living with a colony of feral cats under the roots of an old tree. I adopted them sight unseen, having lost my two old Siamese sister cats a few months earlier. These two siblings were young, and I wanted a bonded pair. 

    The two cats had a rough introduction to my home, my fault entirely, but Yangtze as I named him soon settled into his new life. He is a very affectionate cat, one who seeks out my lap, cuddles next to my side in the mornings when I am in bed and reaches out his paw to tap my chin in greeting. His purring soothes me, especially in the isolation of this pandemic. 

    JuJuBee is suspicious of the world. She is partially blind in both eyes. After five years with me, she now trusts me so that she no longer runs out of a room when I enter, but she is not a cat who wants petting, and I don’t think I have ever heard her purr. Perhaps once. She now will jump on my bed in the morning when Yangtze is there, and she lets me stroke her fur a few times. 

    Stroking her fur is how I knew that it was extremely matted, and so this morning I launched the campaign to catch JuJu Bee and brush her. I have done this several times before, and although the catching part is very difficult, she never resists the brushing and combing…perhaps the brushing feels good. 

    This morning’s campaign was almost a failure from a start. I have to shut all the doors in my small ranch house to narrow the catch area to the central part of the house, and the door shutting has to be done in a certain sequence or JuJuBee is forewarned. But I got all the doors shut and JuJuBee contained in the main living area, where she howled as though the world was ending, piddled on the floor, and fled for the corner windows of the dining area. 

    In trying to pick up this almost fifteen pound cat from the corner windows, I pulled a muscle in my lower back, and I howled in pain, too. One sharp claw punctured my wrist. But I was able to ease her onto a nearby flat space, and sitting on a dining room chair, I brushed and combed her until all the mats were out. She did not struggle or resist, and jumped down only after I stopped stroking her and I myself stood up. 

    And later I thought…this is what it is like to give with no expectation of receiving anything in return. JuJuBee probably will never be a cat who purrs or licks my hand. She has lived with me for five years and now is trusting me more, but I do not expect her to change very much.

    And I had a glimmer—a faint glimmer—of understanding of what it must be like for those parents of children with severe disabilities of one kind or another, for those caretakers of adults who cannot say thank you for the simplest act of kindness. 

    And so my question for you is this: 

    If we can give without expectation of any return

    does that expand our hearts and 

    take us further along the road 

    to our best selves?

    Or do we need to be innocent of reflection also?

  • In the Time of the Pandemic: Hygiene

    Closing the lid on my U-V sterilizer box, I turn to the counter and pluck a wipe from the Chlorox container. I wipe down the buttons on my security wall box, wipe down the inside door handle and the outside door handle, and the handles on the inside and outside of the storm door. I try to remember what else I have touched.

    Did I wash my hands as soon as I entered the house and before I put my mask, car keys, and sunglasses in the sterilizer box? I think so, but just in case, I go into my hall bathroom and give my hands a good squirt of the foaming soap. I ordered this soap from Amazon even before my other liquid hand soap ran out, because I wanted something less drying, something that smelled good. This soap foams and has shea butter, and it smells like almonds. Plus the bottle is pretty. I don’t really care that it cost more. What am I spending money on anyway?

    I give my hands a good scrub, singing “happy birthday to me” twice over. I really need to figure out a new song for this routine. 

    I dry my hands and go back to the kitchen. I think my U-V box is done with the first round. I open the lid. It is a solid wooden box with a lid that closes with a latch. I don’t know where I got it, but I put it away as a Useful Box. Back in March when the Pandemic arrived, I tried out a cardboard box with a lid, but I like this wooden box better. It looks nicer, sitting on the kitchen stool. 

    Now I open the lid and remove my car keys and hang them on the hook inside the coat closet. I hang my mask on the hook next to the car keys. I take out my sunglasses and put them in the tray on the table. Then I lay my blue purse in the box, stretching it out and winding the shoulder strap around so it all fits. I have stopped carrying my favorite red purse. It is too big to fit in this box, and I don’t really need all the contents for the short and rare errands I now make. 

    The u-v sterilizer light is attached with velcro to the inside of the lid. I can carefully remove it and and take it to the bathroom to insert the charger cord for re-charging, just as I do with my iPhone and iPad. But for now I just press the button to start the u-v light. The button shines blue and I quickly close the lid. There is a time delay before the light itself will turn on, so I have time to close the lid and protect my eyes. I have to trust that the light itself turns on and the u-v does its job for 15 minutes. I never peek. 

    While my purse is being cleaned, I pick up the paper bag of mail that I have collected and take it to the study. It will sit there for a day, decontaminating, before I open it. And then I will wash my hands again with that almond-scented soap.