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Friday, 24 June 2022

Better

 Dear Will —


As you can see, I’ve become one of those crazy widows who talks to the dead.

After crying at breakfast and telling my woes to Jo, one of the travelers, and having her tell me that her husband, a Sidney Greenstreet type, was also crashing, I decided to have fun.  I enjoyed the city walk and the trip up the mountain.  There is potable spring water pouring out of ancient fountains around the city.

You would have loved this hotel room.  There is a nightlight in the bathroom and the bed is comfortable.  It cools down at night so leaving the door open really cooled things down.

I admire your courage for traveling to Europe for the first time when you were in your sixties.  Thank you for being my beloved companion for so many years, even when you felt sick.

Some friends have critiqued me for spending so much money on this trip.  I should remind them that if I’d placed you the month you forgot who I was I would have spent between 60 and 90 grand on your care in the time between placement and your death.

Love you forever,

Kake

Thursday, 23 June 2022

Crashing


Dear Will

I was poisoned last night even after showing the waiter my note that was about my allergy to milk products.  It took me two hours before I could breath through my nose.  My chest is still conjested. I just went to the supermarket across from our hotel and bought some cashews and bananas.  There is so little here that doesn’t have milk in it.

 I’m so tired.  I think I’m going to spend the day in my hotel room sleeping after the city walk.  It’s raining now but I have a jacket and umbrella so that will be fine.  And at least the rain has cooled things off.  No point on going up on the mountain, though, so I’ll just donate the 59 euros to Viking.  I’m having trouble not crying.  You know how I always got culture shock, no matter where we went.  I always worked through it because you were with me to encourage me.  I don’t want to connect with anyone now because I’m such bad company, breaking into tears at any moment.

You don’t remember, because you were mostly gone, but I was so jealous of my friends who went to Italy together.  

It feels like I’m back in the despair that hit me in April.

I won’t tell my Facebook friends this, but I bit off more than I can chew with this trip.  Thank God for friends who check in on me.

I’ve increased my anti-depressant dosage this morning in hopes that it can help me stop crying.

Wednesday, 22 June 2022

Without You

Dear Will,

The last couple of days have been hard.  I've been missing you so much and this morning  I've been crying.   I've developed the ability to talk with strangers but it doesn't make up for missing my best friend.

I've been posting pictures on Facebook as if my many FB friends and real friends nake up for you being gone, as if this expensive trip is salvific.  

I feel so sad today.  I'm also mourning the last 6 years of my life which were so hard.  

My suite was great, the stewards are great.

BUT

Grief is demanding.   

Saturday, 18 June 2022

Museum children

Dear Will -

Do you remember when we visited Les Nympheas in Paris and you had that talk with the museum guard about Les sauvages ... the visiting high school students?  Well, when I visited the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, there were lots of kids, but no savages.  All of them seemed quite content to listen to their teachers

We talked about visiting Amsterdam before I understand that your brain was dying.  I wish we could have seen the Rembrandts together.

I met another widow on tonight's beer tour.  She had also been a caregiver.  You know I don't have much small talk, so I find out pretty quickly which passengers have relatives with dementia and which are grieving.  I guess that's one of my gifts (or curses) to be willing to talk about death and disease.

But I miss our private jokes.

Love,
Kake

Friday, 17 June 2022

Dreams

 the first time in years I dreamed about being unprepared for a class I was teaching.  Just before I woke up I was telling students about a paper assignment I would get to them next class and how they would need a thesis statement. 

I've met some interesting people on the ship and have been able both to small talk and serious talk.  Yesterday we visited the windmills at Kinderdijk and were led by a volunteer who was once a special ed teacher.  He was funny and knowledgeable. There are probably many similarities between his former charges and us tourists. 

Today we have a walking tour in Cologne and tonight I'm going on an extra-pay excursion about Cologne beer kulture. 

My dairy allergy is being well taken care of, with the Maitre D checking in with me each morning about what I can eat at lunch and dinner.  Last night the chef made me a special dessert - a little  round chocolate cake.  Of course I can't eat any of the wonderful pastries.  Sigh.

No masks, no daily nose swabs. 

Thursday, 16 June 2022

History Rocks

Dear Will ..

You may know by now that we were amoung the earliest Viking cruisers.  The company started only in 1997.. and we were amoung the passengers in 1999 when they were only sailing in Russland.  No wonder that tripfelt so experimental, especially when the septic system broke down and the food ran out.  I wish you were with me now to warm my bed and complain about the mosquitoes. 

Love always and forever,
Kake

On the Boat


 I can't have more than one connected device on the boat, so I'm stuck with one finger typing on my phone.

My first dairy free meal was terrific..salad. a nice piece of turbot with pasta and raspberry sorbet with mint from the ship's sundeck herb garden.

I was thinking of going back into Amsterdam for weed and hookers before the boat leaves at 11:30, but I'm too old, it's too late in the eve for someone who gets up at 5am, and I've become too Christian for paid sex.  Sigh.  I'm just no fun anymore.

And after a look at my travel companions (amoung whom there is a sorry lack of dermatological ink) I figure there's no chance for a shipboard romance.  I chose to eat alone tonight, not having energy for conviviality...I'll try that tomorrow. 

My suite is actually awesome enough to hang out in the whole trip!

I've put a favorite picture of Will on one of the bookshelves.

Our tour guide in the Hagute was a moderately left wing historian who did not leave out the crimes of Holland's "golden age."  I was also happy to see that the Rijksmuseum had commentary on some of the paintings about the Dutch slave trade.  The worldwide reckoning over colonialism continues...except for Mr. Puttin, who would prefer to see slavery to Russia continue.

Tomorrow we look at windmills.


Wednesday, 15 June 2022

The Hague: Missing You


 Dear Will:

As I sat in my comfy bathtub in the Hotel des Indes last night, I remembered our trip to France when I spent the end of each evening relaxing in a hot tub, reading The River Why, a book about fishing in Oregon.

At the beginning of this trip on Monday, I experienced a big grief day, crying on the British Airways flight, discomfiting the stewardi.  

I am having a good time and yet I am not experiencing great joy or happiness because my big hotel bed is empty of your warmth.  

It’s true that if you were here I would be worrying about you.  It was also on our trip to France in 1997 that I found out you had been hiding a serious illness from me for many years.  And when we were walking down the street, I would be looking behind me constantly because you preferred to stay an annoying 3 or 4 steps back from my sidewalk leadership. 

And I’m free now to make mistakes without comment and to go where I want without checking with anyone.  So I didn’t go to art galleries or museums yesterday (fuck the girl with the glass earring) and instead took the tram to the beach to step in the North Sea.

“Freedom is just another word for, nothing left to lose.”

Always yours,


Kake


Friday, 10 June 2022

NEW TECHNOLOGY ARGH! (file under "First World Problems")

 I've known since the end of last year that I needed a new phone.  But I also suspected the process was going to be horrible.

I was correct in my suspicions.

When I got to T-Mobile on Wednesday  I let the salesman sell me on saving money by getting an S22 for free.  I like the S22 - it's smaller than my previous phone (actually, about the size of my phone before that) and fits comfortably in my back pocket.  I also bought a sparkly new case for it.

"All you need to do is change your phone number."

"No no no," I said. "I want to keep my old number!"

"Well, T-Mobile has this app called Digits and your interface will be just the same.  The transition will be seamless."

Upper photo from T-Mobile website

I fell for it.

Almost two hours later I was leaving the store, hangry and exhausted.

The first thing I figured out (though it took me a couple of hours) is that Digits does not accept consumer texts -- like codes from Yahoo or anyplace else.  That means every business that needs to be in contact with me now needs the new phone number -- so much for "seamless." When I contacted their customer service, someone was on the chat with me not answering.  SO annoying.  (But then, maybe that person didn't know the answer either.

Yesterday I spent a lot of time fighting with the phone to get it to connect with my hearing aids, to little avail.  (No one in the office Friday, no one in Idaho, at the answering service, who knew anything about my brand.)  Finally, I had other stuff to do (like weed whack the lawn.) 

For almost a full day, Digits worked.  Then, suddenly last night, it stopped and erased all the texts I'd already received. ARGH! I went to various web pages to figure out Digits and everything I read was so complicated that, rather than having someone out at T-Mobile take the time to explain it to me, I'm going to learn to live with my new phone number with its Eugene prefix.

As Ozzy Man might say, "Digits is Destination Fucked" 

And I'm not the only one to feel this way.

"Why do I hate Digits?

The Android version of Digits app sucks. It doesn’t work reliably as it is supposed to be. I would often miss phone calls from time to time."

"Chronically, unusably buggy

This app is Bug City, and has been for years."

 

Lessons learned:

The next time I go to T-Mobile, eat something first and be prepared to say "no" to any deals.

What I have to do now:  Send out a text to all my friends and change my phone number various places.  

Not a life or death issue but annoying nevertheless to this old queer.


Thursday, 9 June 2022

What I Loved About Will


First off, I need to say that there was always a connection between Will and me.  His eyes and his smile held the chain to my heart.  Even when I left him, I couldn't leave him.  I believe that the Holy Mystery that I call God put us together.  Why?  Were we connected in a past life?  Did the Holy Mystery have a "plan"?  That's not my actual theology, but I leave myself open to the possibility.  Always open.  Ephphatha. (Mark 7:34)

Will was a great traveling companion.  We experienced just the right amount of togetherness.  Our primary focus during our travels was on art museums and cultural events.  Because we had largely the same interests as we traveled, it was Will's job to create each days itinerary and my job to figure out how to get where we were going (in big cities it would usually be by metro underground).  When we went to art museums, we would arrange to meet in the lobby at a specified time and then we would go our own ways until it was time to reconnoiter.   

Will was a terrific "house husband."  After he retired in 1990 from  to join me in Bend, we made agreements about tasks.  He was the cook and I was the clean-up.  He did the laundry and I did the vacuuming.  He enjoyed being in charge of the home so much that when I had sabbaticals he would laughingly complain about me being "underfoot."

Will took care of the finances.  Him doing this job was a great relief to me.  Every month he'd tally up what I owed for my half of household expenses (these included heating, water, groceries, etc).  He also kept track of his loan to me for my half of the house, letting me know when the debt was put to bed in the late Oughts.  (My half of the house was about $54 grand -- I assume I'll get more for it when I sell it - hahahaha).  He also did the taxes every year until he was unable to do so.  He was very frugal and never met a penny without enough fat on it to pinch.

We rarely bickered.  As cranky and critical as he was, he didn't turn it on me after the first few years.  We rarely showed each other disrespect, especially after the first decade.  That snarkiness I assumed was the baseline in heterosexual relationships and that I so disliked wasn't part of ours. (My assumption came from seeing the marriages on our block and watching comics on the Ed Sullivan show.  Basically, I grew up thinking that marriage meant discomfort, pain, and stress because that's pretty much all I saw.)  

He enjoyed queer culture as much as I did.  I have a very fond memory of seeing Whatever Happened to Baby Jane at the Castro Theatre and how charmed he was by the gay couple semi-dressed up, one with a pancake white face and bad wig pushing his dress-wearing friend down the aisle in a wheelchair.  For years, when the occasion presented itself, he would quote, "But cha are Blanche, ya are."

He was very attractive.  He kept in shape by walking.  Even at his heaviest, he was never fat. I loved his face, especially his eyes.  He built on his slender frame by purchasing good suits and sharp outfits (but always at low prices!)

He had a terrific memory!  Before he got dementia, I often relied on him to remember where we had seen a movie and when.  He could usually remember what day we had seen it and what the weather was like on that day in San Francisco or Berkeley or Pocatello.  This was important to me because my own brain has a wobbly hippocampus (because of two concussions, hypervigilance in childhood, and substance abuse).  If I needed a book from his 12 thousand volume library, he could usually find it

He took care of me.  He was the only one who believed me when I was raped.  During my major "nervous breakdown" which included my first depressive break of being unable to leave the house for a couple of months and then being unable to figure out what to do with my life for two years, he supported me.  When I got in trouble at work, he always took my side, even when there was justification for my punishment.

He was not the ogre he sometimes pretended to be with his students or outsiders.  His core personality was that of a sweet young boy.  The ogre appeared when he felt threatened.

He was super smart in terms of knowledge (if not in terms of synthesis).

He loved gardening and growing our own food.  For years in Pocatello we had fresh tomatoes and corn.  He would also grow basil and tomatoes in Bend.  I remember him lovingly carrying the tomato plants in from the deck at night when autumn dropped the temperature to freezing.  He could also glean when appropriate.  The summer of my apartment in the old polygamous house in the avenues, we captured hundreds of apricots from the overloaded tree on the property next door and he made jars and jars of wonderful apricot jam.

He loved our animals, especially June Jhumpa, his cat, and Birdy, our beloved poodle.  In fact, as he was dying and Pastor Noah was talking to him about heaven, he was more interested in meeting the two of them again than in meeting Jesus.

He remained a mystery to me until his death.  My grief therapist once asked me, "What do you think Will would think of ...." and then she stopped, looked at my smile and said, "Right.  You've already told me that you didn't know how he thought."  And that's true.  I think we were mysteries to each other.  That's how he taught me that love doesn't require understanding.  We didn't really understand each other but we loved each other just the same.

He wasn't ambitious.  He never got his PhD.  He didn't write big academic articles.  He always preferred going to the movies to working.  As do I!

He could gossip and do small talk with friends and strangers, tasks I found difficult.

And most of all, he loved me -- he might have said "in spite" of my flaws, though I think it might have been "because" of them. Would a less crazy, less queer person have stayed with him?  Data collected during household archeology suggests not. The day before he went into his death coma he told me that he loved me and looked at me with those eyes that opened my heart.

I miss him so much.

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart, wherever you are!




 




Tuesday, 7 June 2022

On the OTHER hand....

photo by Belinda Fewings on Unsplash

According to "relationship experts", one way to get over a break-up and a broken heart is to remember the reality of the relationship.  And what's a bigger break-up than dementia and death?

According to Guy Winch, PhD, licensed psychologist and author of How To Fix a Broken Heart, "Think of every annoying quality they possessed as well as all the compromises you had to make in the relationship. Keep that list on your phone so you can refer back to it whenever you start thinking they were so perfect. It’s natural to idealize both the person and the relationship." (quote from Good Housekeeping article.)

So here's a little list 😉:

1.  He was hyper-critical and often had little awareness of how his crankiness effected other people.  (He learned, however, not to criticize me.)  He once started critiquing a choir performance right to a member of said choir.  He also once blew up at my boss, COCC President Bob Barber, at a public celebration.

2. He was a kvetcher.  One day I said, "It's a beautiful day!  Look at all the flowering trees."  And he said, "But the winds coming up and they'll all blow off in the storm."  Like Eeyore,  he took pleasure in finding the worm in the apple.

3.  He was an indirect communicator and sometimes passive aggressive. The best story here is about our trip to Los Angeles.  I was hurtling us down the freeway when he said, "We just passed George Cukor's house".  This comment was supposed to tell me that I was going in the wrong direction.  It didn't.  Finally he said, "We're going in the wrong direction."  Over and over throughout our long relationship, he would try and communicate something to me far too subtly for me to comprehend.

4. He never told me I was beautiful or pretty.  Like my Mom, he occasionally told me I could be attractive when I put some work into it.  (The clothes made the woman.)

5.  He wasn't all that comfortable with a ripe female body.  He would have preferred I had a Kate Hepburn shape and sometimes, early on, compared me unfavorably. He once said, AS he was making love to me, that "More than a mouthful is wasted."  Argh!  This when I have these gazongas.  I think he was bisexual but (perhaps) too shy to have a gay relationship.  (I say perhaps because he didn't talk about his other relationships.)

6.  For the first 10 years he avoided all relationship discussion and after that it was rare and had to be forced.  I would talk about issues and want answers from him and he would say, "later" and later would never come.  When we did talk and do relationship work, his focus would disappear after awhile and if serious effort was required of him, he'd balk.

7.  He wouldn't tell me when he was sick and he hid injuries.  In this category is his hearing loss ("Students mumble!").  He was hard of hearing when he came to Bend in 1990 and it took me 10 years to convince him to let ME buy him some Costco hearing aids which he wouldn't wear.  Later, in his dementia, he lost the sight in one eye and didn't tell me.  But by then, he may not have noticed.

8.  And in the beginning, when I told him I was non-monogamous, he pretended to accept it but later on punished me emotionally when he found out that it wasn't "just a phase you were going through."

9.  He didn't like having other people in the house and didn't like most of our neighbors.

10.  He seemed to have little access to his own motivations and didn't "believe" in psychology.

So yes, he was a pain in the ass in many ways.  But I think that is because he was probably neurologically different. Several years ago, I read an article by a woman who had stumbled onto the thought, after 20 years of marriage, that her spouse has Aspergers.  A quick glance at a list compiled by psychologist Dr. George Sachs reveals a variety of clues, including:

"People on the spectrum have a tendency to go into long boring monologues on their special interests or opinions – and without an internal social meter to tell them they are not being well-received or are going on too long – they have a tendency to come across as one-sided and even sanctimonious in some cases."

"Most individuals on the Autism Spectrum have a difficulty anticipating the needs of others because of something called “mind-blindness,” an inability to place oneself in the shoes of others and anticipate their emotional state and thought processes."

"Many individuals on the spectrum do not approach romance in a “neurotypical” way. If he has told you at one point that he loves you – he may not feel the need to articulate this again unless his feeling have changed. For partners who are not on the spectrum, they often view verbal and romantic reassurance as a necessity in a relationship, while individuals on the spectrum view excessive validation as unnecessary since they believe that love should be measured in actions (concrete) rather than words (abstract)."

"Many people on the spectrum have often been accused of “not having a filter.” Despite being hypersensitive to criticism themselves (mostly because ASDs are expending a lot of mental energy trying to act “normal”), their brain is primed to concentrate on details and inconsistencies. You may have spent all day doing your nails, but your ASD partner will only comment on the tiny chip on your pinky finger or that you need botox or microneedling for your skin. Usually, these comments are not meant to hurt their partner – to the ASD brain, they’re simply just stating “facts,” even if they come across as insensitive to a neurotypical."

So now I think that Will was probably neurodivergent.  It would have helped if I'd understood this earlier on and not interpreted so much of his behavior as "my fault." Or maybe it wouldn't.  

And anyway, I'm kinda loony myself so we turned out to be a good match.


Monday, 6 June 2022

Blessed

 
I spoke with another recent widow yesterday.  She approached me at a church function.  Her widowhood was totally unexpected and shocking.  We commiserated a bit and then she told me something interesting:

The tatt he got in the 90s in solidarity with me

"At least you had a career."

And I considered that.  What she meant was that I had a life well outside of my spouse's and she had not and that made it easier for me to be alone now.  While it wasn't a terribly thoughtful thing for her to say, it was undoubtedly true from her POV and perhaps just plain valid.

I know how to act as an individual. Most of my friends know me as an individual (Will not wanting to go with me to many of the school events or church events.)  Neither of us was terribly successful in getting the other one to give up irritating aspects of personality.  He wanted me to be monogamous -- that never worked.  I wanted him not to be so critical and negative -- and that didn't work.  

But though we separated once and had our running arguments, we never gave up on each other.  And though we never understood each other either (or ourselves, not to put too fine a point upon it), we loved each other until his death. I know, because the day before he died he told me and I told him of our love.  And he looked at me with "those eyes" that don't lie.

It was a long,  challenging, and beautiful relationship, filled with joy and sorrow, like any old fashioned marriage.  We rarely spoke harshly to each other.  We always respected each other.

I tell you what, when we married, I expected it to be temporary.  I believed marriage a bourgeois invention. But somehow, through love and inertia, we made it through the hard times to enter a wonderful 25 years during which I worked and he kept house and we were very happy.  Then there was the dementia care but even through that, we had many good times in between the harsh realities.

 He died 50 years, 65 days, and 15 hours from when we first fucked.  ("But who's counting?")

Never in my wildest youthful dreams did I imagine our relationship.  Never did I imagine I could remain committed (if not "faithful") to a single person for so long.

And as for my career -- it was Will who encouraged me, supported me, and even (gasp) when we were separated loaned me money and books to get through the doctoral program at Utah.  (Unsurprisingly, he had all the Kenneth Burke volumes I could want!)

So yes, I am luckier or more blessed than a widow who lived in her spouse's shadow.  

Will and I were free and ourselves and there will never be anyone like him again.


Friday, 3 June 2022

Who is this new person?


 One of my challenges, since Will's death, has been to figure out who Kake (a.k.a. Huck, Doc Huck, Karen Huck, Kakie) is.

Yesterday, for the first time, I said out loud, "I've been spontaneous."  Meaning, that in all my "work" on the house, I have jumped into decisions quickly.  

I mean, let's look at the house decision.  They're carrying the body out of the house and I decided, "I won't sell."  And I decided, "It's now my fucking house.  I can do whatever I want with it." 

It's been a process of quick decision making - sometimes the decisions have barely felt like decisions - like the ripping out of the old carpet.  Of course that had to happen.

But the paint - such quick decisions.  

And no fucking about with designers.  No spending my money on other people's decisions.  Although I have taken advice from friends (hence the seafoam living room).

I have always before ranked VERY low on the personality trait of spontaneity.  

So, as I've been observing myself, I've noticed the following characteristics:

  1. More spontaneous than I thought.
  2. Fluctuating between reckless spending and frugality (oh, the two pendant lights - the cheap Lowes light and the very expensive MOMA light)
  3. I still like Dad jokes and vaudeville of all kinds (except Jackass maneuvers that treat others like marks.)
  4. My mind still makes sexual puns when certain words turn up in conversation, though I no longer have to say everything out loud,  (Inside me is a Beavis or Butthead - heh heh heh)
  5. I'm comfortable with plenty of alone time (thank goodness) as long as I know I can call a friend if I need to.
  6. I enjoy performing (still a lector at church and someday will go back to poetry reading)
  7. I am still a rhetorician - I cannot watch or listen to news or entertainment without noting the persuasion techniques being used to create certain emotions and ideas.  (This is one reason I avoid the news -- the other being that it's just fucking depressing.)
  8. "Fuck" is still one of my favorite words. It's a nice, obscene word that has many uses.  In my moral universe, obscenity is moral while profanity is not.  I still believe that it's inappropriate for me to use words that suggest curses - damn and hell.  Anything that calls upon the Holy Mystery to hurt others in anathema to me.  This is due to my interpretation of the commandment not to take the Lord's name in vain).   I've taken to saying, "Well, fuck me" when something goes wrong or I stub my toe.  

  I'm still unsure about the whole gender thing.  And really, I don't think it matters that much except where sexual behavior is concerned.  But then there's also politics.  Is it more politically appropriate for me to identify as female?  Or non-binary?  I don't know.  I haven't had a uterus or ovaries since the late 70s so generally I think of myself as a eunuch.  That's kind of fun when Acts 8:26-40 pops up.

I'm also unsure of my "purpose."  I don't have life goals for this third act.  I know I'm "called" but to do what hasn't been revealed as yet.  I trust that it will be.  

My new dining area
The Jetson's dining room






Thursday, 2 June 2022

Mornings

 I'm back at the Haven, early.  For the past few months my use of my office has been sporadic.  But my alarm is now set at 4:00 am every workday so I can get to my perch before the sun comes up, officially.  The sky gets light before the sun rises, so at 5:05 the river looked like this:


Note the reflection of my laptop.  It gives me a feeling of the infinitely recursive (you know there's another reflection, and another and another).

This morning I've having some yoga with Ruth Anne at 7:00.  I forgot to put on yoga clothes so I'll be doing it in my jeans.

The new floor of the kitchen begins to go on today.  I had plumbing work done downstairs on Tuesday and the poor plumber, who I got through Angi, took forever wrestling with the old pipes with their frozen connections.  I probably shouldn't have hired him for the plumbing too, since he did the electrics.  But he was dedicated and worked well past the two hours for which I'd already paid.

As of today, I'm off weed until June 30, as I prepare for a big trip.

 


Wednesday, 1 June 2022

Living Room


 I have a new living room!  

And on Monday night, I actually had a meeting in my house!  It was, sadly, the last EFM class of the year -- the little party class.  It was wonderful to see my fellow student, Ken, sitting in my butterfly wingback beneath the lamp I had Will buy for me as an anniversary present long ago.  I almost got rid of this lamp in the great furniture purge but I'm glad I didn't because it goes with the leafy vibe of my renewed space.

My fresh rug also arrived.  I'd actually purchased a rug locally but when I rolled it out it didn't go with my new furniture.  Fortunately, it did go with the "red room" so I unrolled it back there.

And downstairs, floor space is opening up as I slowly start going through my own stuff to see what I can toss out.

In the meantime, I'm trying to teach myself to be more Felix than Oscar.  I like a clean and tidy space but I don't like making spaces clean and tidy.  I'm sure I'll hire a cleaner again at some point, but this time one that can read notes written in English.


And ever since I gave in to the whole "ghostly visitor" experience (ie, hearing footsteps upstairs and feeling Will's presence as I approach sleep) my grief has felt different -- not quite as overwhelming when it hits.

Further adventures with College Hunks:  they picked up the old picnic table and benches and the adirondack chairs for the dump, yesterday, and brought my new World Market couch in from the garage and put the legs on.  They also hauled away the extra packing.  My garage is now almost empty of stored furniture.

In other news -- I shared a meal recently with someone I used to have a crush on.  But this person wasn't "there" for me during the dementia caring and my brain has decided I no longer have a crush on this person.  I could not speak as intimately with them as I used to do nor could I respond to their expressions of appreciation as my brain was thinking, "if you like me so much, why weren't you there when I needed people."

The meal reminded me a bit of my relationship with a man I thought was my friend before the pandemic.  He was  a man who I thought needed friends and I thought hen was MY friend.  Turned out not to be, in spite of how everytime he met with me before COVID he would say I was one of his favorite people.

On the positive side, I'm having breakfast this morning with a good and true friend, Diana, who is visiting from Colorado.  She and spouse Warren took such good care of me when I visited her in April -- it was the bright spot in that cruelest month.

"April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain."