Diary of Not a Wimpy Widow

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  • To Love and To Cherish

    June 5, 2015

     

    Fifty years ago today I walked down the aisle of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church.  I was wearing a floor length ivory wedding dress and veil and I held the arm of my father dressed in his blue Army uniform. I was not at all sure I was doing the right thing, but I did not see backing out as an option. By the altar stood Bill wearing his Navy dress whites. He was very thin and suntanned from serving on a U.S. destroyer off the coast of the Dominican Republic during its civil war.  I had seen him briefly on a weekend in February when he had been home on leave, but then not for four months. The day before the wedding he flew to Chicago from Norfolk, and we had had only a little time together before his college friends took him off for a stag party.  I was not at all sure who this stranger at the altar was. He seemed very constrained and rigid the day before, and the sense of humor that had so appealed to me had been no where in evidence.

     

    By Bill’s side stood his best man Steve and the minister.  Proceeding down the aisle before me were Gwyn my maid of honor, and my sister Kara-Lynn. They were wearing short white lace dresses lined with yellow and white lace kerchiefs on their heads, made by Gwyn and my mother. Even by wedding standards of the day, it was a simple wedding. I was paying for most of the expense myself, out of my savings. I had graduated from college in May and then had worked for a month in the drama department; Gwyn and I had stayed in a our rental apartment, but for the past week we had been packing up our things. The day before we had loaded my boxes into Bill’s mother’s car.

     

    Now I was at the altar, and when my father gave my hand to Bill, I was reassured by Bill’s warm brown eyes. The man I loved was there, under the disguise of this young thin Naval officer. My father sat down next to my mother in a front pew.  My parents and sister had flown in from Oregon and had met Bill for the first time the day before.

     
    Bill and I said the traditional vows: “to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do us part.” We exchanged the plain gold bands, and were declared man and wife. We walked down the aisle together while the organ played. Our life’s journey together had begun, and it would be one filled with babies and homes, tears and laughter, worries and triumphs, amazing adventures, and throughout all the years it would be a journey supported by steadfast love.

  • Kali, A Good Dog

    May 21, 2015

    This morning I put Kali’s ashes to rest under the witch hazel, in the Secret Garden that was one

    of Kali’s favorite spots on a hot day. It was gray and raining lightly, but four years ago today

    when Kali came to live with me, it was a clear day full of sunshine. I had driven to her foster

    home in northern Maryland to pick her up. She was happy to go in the car–I would soon learn

    that Kali was always happy to go in the car–and settled down in the backseat while I drove to

    Olney to pick up Emma. Emma declared her a “sausage dog” and it was true Kali was

    overweight and not the trim Brittany spaniel she would become.

    I had read that dogs do not understand that they are traveling distances when going places by

    car, and that when introducing a dog to a new home, you should walk the dog there. And so I

    parked the car at the turnaround, and the three of us walked the rest of the way, Kali tugging

    and straining on the leash. Despite being ten years old, she did not know how to heel or stay or

    come. She knew how to sit, though that was hard with her hip dysplasia and arthritis, and she

    knew how to pick up a paw on command.

    Bringing Kali into my home was one of the best things I could have done. Bill had been dead not

    quite a year, and I was emerging out of the fog of the first year of grief into the second year of

    mourning, when you realize that there is no magic, he is not coming back, this is how it is going

    to be forever. Kali brought me the unconditional love of a sweet dog. I soon learned that Kali’s

    one mission in life was keeping track of me. When we were outside as we were much of the

    time in good weather, she would wander a bit in the fenced yard, sniffing out chipmunks and

    squirrels, but she soon would come bounding back to find me. Now and then she lost me and

    would go to the kitchen door and bark, thinking I had gone inside. Then I had to call her, or lay

    down my gardening tools and go retrieve her. When I went swimming, she would pace around

    the pool anxiously. Most Brittany spaniels like the water, but not Kali.

    Inside my small house, Kali stayed close to me, and I bought three beds to keep her old bones

    comfortable in the living room, study, and bedroom. The family room was off limits to her, as it

    was the cats’ gated refuge, but if I went in there to watch television I would snap on her leash

    and hitch her to the ottoman leg: her whining at the gate had worn me down. At bedtime I was

    comforted by her gentle snoring on the floor by my bedside, though sometimes I was awakened by

    her yipping and her paws scratching against the wall while she pursued a chipmunk in her

    dreams.

    When I returned home from errands or activities, Kali greeted me at the door, stubby tail

    wagging. During her last year, she no longer got off her living room bed to greet me, but simply

    raised her head alertly. Now and then I knelt on her bed to rub her belly and cuddle her, with a

    doggy smile as my reward.

    One morning in January, Kali had great difficulty getting to her feet and then in walking. She

    settled on her bed in the study, and although she got to her feet twice, tail wagging hard, she did not

    walk. She drank a little water but wanted no food. “Stroke,” said the vet when he came to

    the house the next day, and gave her the injection to ease her out of this world, while I cradled

    her head and wept. “You’re a good dog, Kali, a very good dog,” I told her.

    FullSizeRender (4)And that is what I told her again this morning, while I patted the dirt firmly over the velveteen bag holding her ashes, and the stuffed toy that came with her when I adopted her. And that is what the stone says that marks her resting place: Kali A Good Dog.

  • Shopping Adventures

    May 26, 2015

    How many of you like shopping at the big box hardware stores, such as Home Depot or Lowe’s? I know I don’t. Bill used to make most of the shopping trips to Home Depot, sometimes going back two or three times on the same day because he forgot something or bought the wrong thing. But after Bill’s death, these shopping adventures fell to me.  I never can find what I am looking for, and I wander the long aisles pushing my cart, or a heavy trolley if I am looking for fence boards and posts to repair the latest mishap to my fences. I never can find anyone to help me. On my last trip to Home Depot before my knee surgery, when I was in extreme pain, I wanted to lie down on the floor and kick and scream. The adult Me had better sense and went to the Customer Service desk for help.

    Today was my first trip to a big box hardware store since my surgery, and last night I decided to put the Internet to work for me. I went online and ordered three items at my local Lowe’s for store pickup: four pressure treated fence boards, nine bags of mulch, and a bottle of wood siding mold cleaner. I also planned to buy pots of vegetables and perennials when I was at the store, but I had a vision of rolling up in my old pick-up truck, showing a copy of my online order, and having my items loaded without getting out of the truck. A telephone message directing me to Register 3 for a receipt dispelled that vision.

    My first mistake was parking the truck as far from Register 3 as it was humanly possible to do. Granted, it was relatively close to the plant section of the store (Register 24.) My second mistake was not wearing a sun hat. The day had turned hot and the sky clear, and it took me some time to find the plants I wanted under the glaring sun. Even inside the store it was quite warm, and I had remembered that I needed nails for the fence repair. After wandering a bit, I found someone to help me, a plus. I could have ordered the nails online, saving me time and trouble, but who remembers everything?

    At the far end of the store I found Register 3, with a big banner over the aisle: Online Orders. The young clerk only needed my phone number to trace my order. One of my items, the wood siding mold cleaner, was at the register, but I was told to bring my truck around and by the time I returned, the lumber part of my order would be waiting for me. So I trudged outside to the opposite end of the parking lot to my truck. By this time, both knees were hurting. Sure enough, when I parked the truck in the pick-up zone and went inside, the four fence boards were waiting for me: 2×4 by 8 feet just as the order stated, but I had ordered the wrong size.  My concept of inches is fuzzy, to be sure, but I know what my fence boards look like. 

    By this time sweat was pouring down my forehead and I again was contemplating lying on the floor, but the nice clerk credited the return of the boards. The lumber aisle was opposite Register 3, and after despairing for a few minutes, just wanting to go home, I looked for the right size lumber, sans cart.

    I found the right boards (1×6 by 8 feet), and two store staff saw me and came to help. One of them loaded the boards on a cart, pushed the cart to the register, and loaded the boards in my truck.

    Then receipt in hand, I drove to the far side of the store (Register 24 side) and into a loading area where two helpful staff loaded the nine bags of mulch. All in all, the online shopping was a better strategy than roaming the aisles, but next time I must remember to measure lumber and preorder as many items as I can.

    But I hope fervently that the next time is a long time away.

  • Mid-Stream

    March 20, 2015

    On March 2nd, I had a total knee replacement of the right knee and now I am recuperating. I am doing quite well, or so my physical therapist and doctor tell me. I can do some things, but not others. I can walk without a walker or a cane inside the house. I do use my walking stick when I go outside, but I am limited as to where I can walk. My therapist worries about me walking on my lawn which is full of dips and bumps. I asked her the other day if I could go home and pick up sticks–it was a bright and beautiful day–but she shook her head no. Today I asked if I could climb on my stepladder to fill my bird feeders. No climbing, she said.

    And in truth, I have little energy to do much of anything. I come home from physical therapy–driven to and from by generous friends–and collapse into the LaFuma lounge chair where I can elevate my feet above my heart. From that vantage point I can look out the picture window to see all the sticks littering the lawn, and the birds sorting through the leaf litter in search of insect life. I think I have to accept being becalmed for a while, on this quiet island in the middle of the busy stream that is my life. And what better month to be caught mid-stream than the month of March, which is such a mix of winter and early spring? Fat wet snowflakes fell this morning on the snow-drops on the lawn.

    In time April will come and I will be stronger and will once more be wading in the waters of my life.

  • Night Song

    February 27, 2015

    Upon my hill the deer are sleeping
    Dark shapes upon the snow
    Upon my hill the deer are sleeping
    Their breaths are rising slow

    And the dogs may bark
    And the bells may ring
    And the sirens sound on high

    But upon my hill the deer will sleep
    Dark shapes upon the snow
    Dark shapes upon the snow

  • The Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Fortunes

    February 24, 2015

    I have not posted anything for weeks because I have been steamrolled by circumstances. January 17-19 a crew was here to improve the insulation levels in my attic. They cleaned out the old insulation and sprayed in open-cell foam and cellulose insulation. Money well spent, I think, but a week later I discovered hot water running down the inside of one bank of kitchen cupboards. One of the crew had accidentally whacked a hot water pipe in the attic, a water pipe critical for my hot water baseboard heating system. The repairs were expensive and messy, involving cutting holes in the kitchen and bathroom ceilings. My electric wall oven also was damaged. The insulation company took responsibility but I have yet to see a check from their insurance company for my expenses. Repair crews were tracking in and out of here for days.

    When one bad thing happens, it is harder to be resilient when the next trouble hits. The snow plow crew tore up the tar and chip driveway that was installed last August, plowing the top layer of granite chips into big piles at the top of my driveway. They will fix it, but it is frustrating to see work undone.

    A few days later I found tiny holes in the wood paneling of my living room; I suspect the termites are back and am waiting for the termite inspector.

    I reminded myself that it was just a home and driveway, just things, and that my loved ones were all right. And then my sweet old dog woke up one morning and could not walk without falling down. My farewell to Kali will follow in another post.

    The British have a saying: “Mustn’t fuss, could be worse.” I will keep that in mind.

  • Dancing out the Tree

    January 9, 2015

    Taking down the Christmas tree is never as much joy as putting it up. The party is over, the candles are snuffed out, and now the long winter is here. As I undressed the tree on 12th Night, I told the tree that it would be serving a new purpose outdoors, providing some of its branches as mulch under the azaleas and rhododendron, and sharing the rest of its branches and trunk as shelter for the small birds against the bitter cold. I don’t know if the tree felt better, but I did. I played the new Christmas CD that my brother had sent me as a gift, looked at the new fallen snow outside, and gently undressed the tree.

    Then there was the problem of getting the eight-foot tree out of my house by myself. I left that job until today. Fortunately there are no stairs here, and it is not far from my living room to the back door, but this is a large and heavy tree. Bill used to unscrew the tree stand from the tree, with me helping to keep it upright while he did that job. Then he would pull the tree out of the stand and take the trunk end, and I would seize the top. Together we would carry it out.

    My mother told me stories of how they used to dance the Christmas tree out of the house, carrying it from room to room. Probably they did not keep the tree in the house for two or three weeks, and there were not as many dry needles to drop. Bill and I never tried dancing the tree out, and I was not going to start now.

    I found these instructions on-line. Get a bucket, a turkey baster, old rags, a very large sheet, and binder clips. Get down on the floor and empty the tree stand using the turkey baster. Move the furniture so you will have a clear space to drop the tree, and clear the path to the door. Spread the old sheet on the floor, at an angle so that the trunk will be pointing toward the exit.  Now grab the tree and pull it down, stand and all, with the trunk end pointing toward the exit. Oops! There is still water in the stand and now the sheet and the rug underneath are flooded. Run and get the biggest beach towels you can find and sop up the water! Note to self: next year, lay down a plastic tablecloth first, then a layer of beach towels, and use an old sheet, not one of your new ones. As my mother used to say, live and learn. Take the clips and bundle the tree up in the sheet as well as you can. Leave the tree stand attached.

    Now drag the tree down the hall and out the door. Except for the wet area on the rug, there is not much mess, and the tree is outside on my patio where the juncos and chickadees are exploring its shelter.

     

  • Heed Your Instincts

    December 20th, 2014

    The furnace sounded as though pots of water were boiling at high temperatures. It is a boiler that has two circulating pumps for the two zones of my house—living and sleeping zones. It had been making funny noises for about three weeks. It sits right next to my living room and kitchen, in a small closet. I could not remember ever hearing the boiler making such noises, but perhaps I was imagining it. Perhaps it always had made those noises? Had Bill been alive, we would have talked about it and compared impressions. But when you are living alone, you can only talk to yourself. I thought I would call my furnace company after Christmas and ask them to check it out.

    That evening my son called, and I described the problem which seemed to be getting worse. “It sounds like an air bubble in the system,” he said, “call the furnace company.” The noise was so annoying that I decided to take his advice. It was after business hours, so I sent an e-mail, and early the next morning I got a phone call: the tech would be at my house between nine and twelve.

    Jon the tech showed up at 10:00 am and spent over three hours diagnosing the problem. It was more than an air bubble. Part of the house was not receiving any heat. The pipes that ran through the attic to the addition were cold, and temperatures that night were expected to be in the 20s. Jon finally tracked down the problem to one of the two circulating pumps; he said it was running backwards. I am still trying to figure that concept out.

    Jon went off to the supply store and brought back a new pump. Meanwhile my Memoir Writing Group friends arrived for our annual holiday party. Many kept their coats on because there was no heat, but I had cleaned and decorated the house, and it was very festive.  Jon left at four o’clock with the furnace now running, while the party was in full swing. The bill was $536.28.

    I woke up this morning. The furnace was running quietly, bringing the temperature in the house to the daytime setting. Outside the temperature was 22 degrees. Had I not called the furnace company, the pipes in the attic might have frozen.  Next time something seems not right, I will listen to my instincts.

     

     

     

  • Autumn Leaves

     

    November 21, 2014

    “Let the wind take care of them!” That was Bill’s approach to the autumn leaves that covered our lawn. And the wind did take care of many of them, blowing them off the lawn, onto the pasture, and then into the woods. Bill drove the lawn mower over the rest, shredding them into the grass. But the leaves of the maple tree in our back yard that fell onto the perennial beds below were too thick to ignore. They had to be raked and/or blown and hauled away. Since Bill’s death, I have been paying my lawn service to remove the leaves; it is too much work for me. They mow some of the leaves into the lawn and haul the rest to my woods.

    A year ago I decided that I should turn those maple leaves into leaf mulch. I blew some of them onto the stable apron, out of the rain, and had the lawn service blow the rest of them to that spot, too. It was an impressive pile of leaves. I ordered a leaf shredder and set it up. It worked well, but shredding leaves is a messy process. I had to don a face mask and protective glasses. I wore old clothes and covered my head with a bandana. And I topped that off with protective ear muffs. I need to take a selfie!

    I produced about twenty bags of shredded leaves before the weather turned so cold that I abandoned the job. And there the leaves sat until spring, getting in the way when I hauled the snow blower out of a horse stall, tripping me up when I carried the boxes of Christmas decorations to the house.  I finally shredded the rest of the leaves last April. I was slowed down one day when I inadvertently dumped a spool of nylon cord into the shredder; it was hidden among the leaves. There was a horrible racket and smoke before I could switch the shredder off. Then I spent an hour patiently picking melted nylon cord, strand by strand, off the central core of the shredder. Fortunately the shredder was not damaged.

    Now the lawn service crew has just finished blowing the new crop of maple leaves onto the stable apron. I look at that massive pile of leaves and I remember all the tedious, dusty hours of work, bending down and picking up leaves in the plastic “bear claws,” dumping them into the shredder, removing the finished bags and stacking them. I wonder if I am crazy. But I also remember spreading those carbon-rich leaves on the raised beds in my vegetable garden, and layering them around the native plants in Bill’s memorial garden. Tomorrow I will don the old clothes, face mask, protective glasses, bandana, and protective ear muffs, and I will turn dead leaves into gold.

    Enjoy this beautiful song recorded by my friend Sarah Jebian.

    http://https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=owZW1iHTfCs&feature=youtu.be

  • In Sickness and In Health

    November 13, 2014

    Bill and I were lucky: for most of our lives together, we both were healthy. But there were some medical procedures.  When I had foot surgery twice, Bill was in the waiting room during the operations. He was there to hold my hand when the stitches came out. When I had a run-in with a wheelbarrow, Bill took me to the doctor and held my hand while the doctor stitched the v-shaped wound. We drove each other to colonoscopy appointments. He sympathized with all my dental procedures, while shaking his head at the costs.

    And then came the night the tumor ruptured. It had been growing for years on Bill’s liver. When it ruptured, the cancerous cells scattered throughout his abdominal cavity and found new homes. I drove him to the emergency room, stayed by his bedside through the long night, waited while the surgeons operated. I went with him to all his appointments with the oncologist. He enrolled in a clinical trial at a nearby VA hospital, more to help with cancer research than with any expectation that the trial might benefit him. I went with him to most of those appointments. And I was by his side in our home, holding his hand, when he drew his last breath.

    I thought of all of this yesterday, when I had laser surgery on a vein in my left leg. I missed Bill. I missed his holding my hand. I missed the love in his eyes.