After I got home from my afternoon walk out at Willow grove (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2020/04/beauty-humor.html), I checked my seedlings to see if they needed watering – and saw growth already!
I seeded the paper pots only a few days ago –(https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2020/04/in-hopes-of-garden.html):
Seedling up! Rutabagas & Turnips.
Bo Pak Choi.
Dragon Tongue Radishes.
Cauliflower, Broccoli & 2 Cosmos.
Putting the plant mister aside, I noticed the meter reader.
Businesses are in mandatorily shut down, employees are told to go home and sit on their hands ... but the Tax Man still collects. So far, I’m doing okay; but I am concerned for my granddaughters’ households during this time of financial upheaval and political fear-mongering for electoral points.
Aside from my walkabouts, I am designing and crafting again … nothing on the large scale I was doing before the morning of December 14th, 2018 brought my world to a screeching halt; but it’s a small start. I’ve always found calm in designing and crafting – I hope that still applies. My scattered thoughts need a focus. Designing, and gardening, have always been my ‘center’. My center has been shattered; I hope I can piece it back together again in a constructive and productive manner.
I am trying.
I wonder … would it be possible to knit an alternative to paper TP? It sure would help with the shortage going on ;-)
I’ve got just enough socks for my feet to get through the week; there are no leftovers for emergencies. LOL
Leftover socks made me think of Bob’s sock stash – his left foot
always seemed to go through the socks like wildfire: just plain wore the
bottoms out. There was always a lonely right sock that no longer had a mate.
Kinda like me.
The lonelies were stashed away for safe keeping in case of an emergency.
Again; kinda like me – the kids want to stash me away ‘cause they don’t know what to do with me: I’m a misfit. I no longer have a life that fits me, and I don’t fit into the kids’ lives anymore either.
Like a lonely sock, I’ve been cast aside.
And now, the governor wants to stash me away ‘to keep me safe’. For voter brownie points: inslee don’t give a single shit about me. No pun intended.
Thinking about Bob’s leftover socks stash, took my thoughts back to the trail walk today. The thoughts surrounding the trail walk has nothing at all to do with lonely socks … but it has everything to do with Bob.
Bob and I had last been out at Willow Grove, July 28th, 2018. 1 month and 2 days before our lives started unraveling. It’s not easy for me to go to Willow Grove, but I am not going to let that Park become a stumbling block to my healing. I like to walk – the Park is 10 minutes away from The Castle. Going there is a challenge on several fronts: I confront my comfort zones (deep water terrifies me; and memories are still strong there/I need to build endurance back up for lengthy hikes I plan to do in the near future/I am determined to drop at least 30 more pounds/leaving the house once a day is crucial to my healing process). Willow Grove is, right now, a necessity.
But, when I am there – and I pass the playground … I practically
sprint past it. When we were there last, we had our grandson with us. We would
walk the trails – people watching as we walked, and sit on the beach and watch
the ships (and watch Aza play in the sand). Then we’d both coach him on
the playground equipment to build his confidence in using the playground gym. Both
of them are out of my life now. The missingness of both of them is acute.
I saw a clam shell on the beach that had a rainbow on the opened inside.
I so wanted to show it to Bob. But I couldn’t.
Bob is no longer
here.
Stormy weather blew in off the river while I was walking, and I
sought temporary shelter under the enclosing evergreen canopy of a small copse
of pines. When Bob was still here, we would have been laughing and hugging in that small enclosure. I would have been able to share my concerns for the kid’s financial uncertainty, and we would have tried to comfort each other about the
real and present threat of serious illness facing our daughter and grandson,
who have little to no immune systems. Our granddaughters are raising children,
and they work with the public: I am sure their days look dark and scary. Bob would
have pulled me into a reassuring hug. But, I can’t talk to him. And he can no
longer comfort me.
I miss hanging out
with my man.
I finished the trail walk. I sat in the car afterwards, drinking cold
coffee while looking through the windshield at the river … and trying to ignore
the empty playground, fenced off with plastic red mesh. It is silent today. The
only sounds I hear are echoes from 609 days ago – voices I’ll never hear again …
Telling myself that though I was missing my husband and grandson; and
the life I was happily living 609 days ago, lately there have been more good
days than bad. The grief is still there, but the raw pain is not.
Widowhood adjustments are hard. Having a pandemic thrown into the
mix makes it more complex. Thankfully I have not been assaulted by anxiety,
fear, or depression like some widows have been.
Dying doesn’t scare
me.
What DOES cause me unease is trying to figure out how to fill the
empty air that is threatening to overpower me. I am active with busyness … but
I am not finding satisfaction in any of it. It occupies my time, but it does not
quiet the quest. I am thankful that I have not felt the drive – as many widows
and widowers do – to fill that void with with booze, drugs, or a warm body replacement.
I’m just moving through time and space; half in-half out. Engaging,
but all the jets are not firing. I am filling my time just fine with people and
activity … but the air … the space is still empty. There is no charge. There’s
a disconnect someplace along the circuit.
I need an adult in my
life.
A companion.
Someone to talk
with.
Someone to share my
life with.
I need MY person.
And Bob is no longer available to fill the air; to give my life a
charge.
I texted Krisa and Alyna before Supper – and Liam before bedtime,
to wish him a happy birthday. I needed to make a human connection.
As much as I would dearly love Bob’s DNA to move further into the
future to walk this planet, I am glad none of the kids are toddlers anymore –
and that for the moment, none of them are thinking of adding babies to the
family head count. I am sure that at this point in time – with a virus that is
not behaving as science thinks it should; and the economy is in a tailspin – my
mind would not be as calm knowing there was a baby in the midst of all this
chaotic upheaval. Peace is important.
It is also important that people never let an opportunity to tell
those you love that you love them – that simple message brings peace into
troubled lives.
And it brings a sense of togetherness in a period of separation.
Love quiets the
turmoil.
Love makes life
simple again.
I long for simple.
Quiet togetherness.
Calm peacefulness.
Filled air.
