EXPOSED & ADRIFT

Over this Labor Day weekend, I drained the rain barrels and pulled them off their stands; there wasn’t much in them because it’s been unseasonably dry this Spring/Summer – and I didn’t want to chance a sudden rainfall that would refill them … making them impossible to drain before October’s frost arrived.

Some people leave their rain barrels in place; but I like to pull mine down and store them, with their accompanying stands in the sheltering carport breezeway, hoping to extend their usefulness until I can no longer shift them and gardening falls by the wayside.

Today's harvest. 10 corn, 1 eggplant, a handful of purple Romano beans, tomatoes, 2 onions & parsley.

Heavy cloud overcast; hot and muggy.

Rain barrels/stands stored until Spring 2021.

In 2014, Bob made me a bird feeder, and several bird house for the yard at our previous house in Lexington, Kelso: I brought this bird house with a flip side for easy cleaning with me when we moved here the Summer of 2017. I usually save bird nests (I’m THAT country 😉), but the birds here build nests that are so lightweight they literally fall apart; so into the trash they go.

Last year I was going through the motions without feeling much of anything; I was doing what needed to be done – basically to keep my body busy and my mind occupied with what I was doing in the moment: I didn’t give a rip what the neighbors thought – I was, thank God, wrapped in a layer of protectivity that pretty much numbed me to anything happening in the world around me.

But this year, I am more aware.

I KNOW the neighbors are watching every move I make ... what I am doing in my garden area, how I walk to the birdfeeder to refill it, how I tipped the rain barrels to drain them - I prayed to God I could do it gracefully with all eyes on me. Covid-19 has been used by governors to keep people tethered to their homes … people have been afraid to go outside their homes for 6 months; there is very little to do for people trapped in their homes, so watching neighbors is the neighborhood fun right now.

I KNOW the neighbors are curious about “the widow next door” and how I am handling things (I hope I am passing the exams): this has been passed to me through the grapevine hotline. Most thought I was a divorcee when Bob was suddenly absent and I was parking the car in the carport without Bob accompanying me. They were surprised when they heard through the grapevine that I am a widow; they are watching because they are curious.

I have become a curiosity.

But here’s the kicker … I’m curious about me too.

I’m curious about how I will accomplish things that need doing.

And I don’t want bored, nosey neighbors watching me try to figure it out. It’s hard enough to adjust without having eyes on all sides watching your every move.

I don’t like feeling exposed and adrift.

These are new feelings.

I never felt them when Bob was here.

But Bob is no longer here … and I feel exposed and adrift.

I feel exposed because people are watching me – and not just strangers

Everyone is curious; strangers are curious with a morbid curiosity. People who have known me all my life with Bob, are curious to know when I will snap back and continue on as before.

I am curious too.

I know I am different now.

I’m never sure how to deal with the uncertainty.

Since the forced in-home-trapments, some mornings I literally have to force myself out of bed and out of the house to get things done. As soon as I step outside, I can feel the stares as I go about my business; trying to ignore the eyed intrusions on my private life. A 4 foot fence (which is the limit for fence heighth here) is not enough to make me feel comfortable in my "private space".

My confidence has been shaken by the political bullshit added to the already fragile shakeup following Bob's graduation.

Nothing will ever be the same again – there will be no “snap back”. Nothing is the same.

Nothing.

I am not the same: I will never be the same.

I am learning new ways of doing old things … and ways of doing new things I’ve never done before.

The most complex thing I have learned since walking across the threshold of our home as a 4-hour-old-widow, December 14^th, 2018, was that my home did not feel like my home anymore. My home was always where Bob was.

And Bob isn’t anymore.

I am a strenger in my own life; trying to find stable footing.

I would never again walk through any door in this house and know Bob was somewhere in it. I walked into a house … but it was no longer a home.

And though I have, since December 14^th, 2018 lived in this house and put my own stamp of ownership on it in March of 2018 when legal ownership was mine solely – it doesn’t feel the same. It does not truly feel like home; it is just a house, with my Name on the Deed of ownership papers.

My activities concerning the house, don’t feel the same – things concerning living in this house … don’t feel the same. Easy chores that I once took pleasure in, feel like a chore I can’t wait to get through and be done with. When Bob was here, and I was his actual physical wife, I enjoyed making a home environment for my husband. Now, those things seem pointless. It is hard to work up excitement for solo meals. It is hard to feel accomplished when there is no one else to notice, and give affirmation to the effort that went into the task. Laundry for one short woman … when you are used to long legged jeans and oversized shirts for a man 6’2”, and the occasional “so cute!” children’s clothing for a grandchild now and then … is painfully boring.

A lot has changed in 20 months: people watching do not know the scope of changes that have occurred.

My life – on all levels – has been drastically altered.

It will never snap back to the way it was before my life took a serious detour from my life I shared with Bob.

My activities do not feel the same.

My routine is not the same.

My thoughts, and my feelings are not the same.

There is not one thing in my life today that remained/feels the same.

Not one.

And most days I do okay with that acknowledgement.

Then there are the days when the absolute difference makes itself known and felt … and I don’t feel like a flamingo; I feel like a pigeon who has lost it’s homing radar. Those are the days I want the old sameness to cover me with shelter from curious eyes; and to give me the anchoring comfort against the tide of life that sets me adrift on the sea of uncertain life situations and circumstances.

Neighbors gawk; that is human nature – but if Bob were still here, I wouldn’t feel exposed.

Bob was my shelter in more ways than 1.

Bob was my anchor in more ways than 1.

Now that Bob is no longer here … and I feel exposed and adrift.

In more ways than 1.