CARIBBEAN BLUE

I skipped my Sunday~Funday outing this morning, and decided to stay-in house today. (1) because I have been out and about several times this week already (2) I have an allergy related headache from my walk in Kelso yesterday. There wasn’t much scotch broom in bloom, but there was enough that I am feeling the effects today.

So, around 10:30 AM, I put a pot roast in my slow cooking oval crockpot and got that underway - the carrots had me momentarily catapulted back in time, because the date on the baggie read: 8-26-18. They had been harvested and bagged for the freezer 4 days before the stable axis in my life was seriously tilted; I shook the memory from my thoughts … staying in-house, I can’t let myself be tripped up by memories that will take me down a path I don’t need to go down right now. I also took a pumpernickel roll out of the freezer to thaw:

Pot Roast w-whole yellow baby spuds, 1 large cubed yam, and 6 medium carrots.

A little later, feeling boredom niggling at me, I pulled the flamingo chair pads off the closet shelf and tied them in place …

Then I got my shoe box of art paint supplies out of the cupboard, and started work on my driftwood garden art project. The driftwood is very dry and porous, so it will need a couple coats of paint – I like the blue color, and who knows … the driftwood could have drifted to the river beach of the Columbia River from the Caribbean ;-)

First coat of Caribbean Blue acrylic paint.

Hmmm; I am sensing a theme here – flamingo chair pads, Caribbean blue driftwood art, and parrot tulips. And a memory came to mind. I had kinda teasingly/seriously mentioned to Bob one day while we were sitting around the house, that I’d consider getting on an airplane to go to Jamaica to sit on the white sands in beach chairs and drink blue-tinted pina coladas after an authentic Jamaican meal. We loved eating a variety of ethnic foods – and I hated flying. Bob liked flying, and only had 20 more flying hours to complete to get his Pilot’s Licensing during his first marriage … but his ex-wife slept with the instructor to spite Bob; so that ended that – he never did complete the course, even though I encouraged him after I found the papers while cleaning the house after we married. But he loved to fly. And I really would have considered flying to Jamaica for Supper – we were retired with time on our hands, and the airfare was reasonable. We laughed at the idea of flying to Jamaica for supper with calypso music on the breeze (we both like calypso music), and then flying back home to go to bed: and our lives went on as usual. 

When Bob was in the local ER/ICU Ward the first time fighting for his life, September 1^st, 2018; and the drugs the doctors were pumping him full of bloated him – threw him into a drug induced hallucinogenic state, and sent his body into full-on shut-down … the doctors were doing everything they could to rectify the situation, bring him around, and keep him alert. One doctor asked him, “Bob – stay with me Bob, what would you really like to be doing right now.” Without thinking about it too hard or too long, Bob looked at me and smiled and said, “Right now, I’d like to be sitting on a white beach in Jamaica drinking a pina colada with my Baby.”

Bob in local ER/ICU Ward; September 1st, 2018. He made it through the night when doctors had said he wouldn't.

“My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” (Psalms 73:26)

The doctor burst out laughing, and said, “Me too, man. Me too.” I smiled through tears – I thought Bob had forgot all about that convo. But I should have known that Bob never forgot anything concerning me. Bob loved me. And if there was a way to make that Caribbean fantasy a reality … he would have moved heaven and earth to do it.

Bob did not fully recover. Three and a half months later, his physical body died at OHSU, in Oregon at 8:05 AM, December 14^th, 2018.

That Jamaican fantasy will never happen. Bob is no longer here, and his physical presence was a major part of that fantasy.

In my now, while the painted driftwood on the dining room table was drying, and I sat down to drink my coffee; I happened to glance out the window and saw that the yellow Parrot Tulips I had bought last March (and repotted last Fall) were blooming on the front steps – and the clouds in the sky had rolled back to show a hint of Caribbean blue, too:

I hope there are white beaches in Heaven with beautiful Caribbean blue waters :-D

KERBY'S & A WALK IN THE PARK

I had just finished brushing my hair, and was checking the phone for updates – it’s important to be ‘updated’, so we know when our campaigning governors running for biden’s vp position, will forget the political nonsense and open our States back up again to life in the real world … as opposed to political landscaping painted broadly with the brush of covid-19. There was anderson cooper looking like a white-haired geriatric rabbit with startled blue eyes, interviewing chris cuomo saying he’s “recovering from coronavirus” … and in the next breath whining because he’s “afraid he might get pneumonia and lose another 10 days with his wife and family”.

I had to count to 10 …

Do ALL the cuomao’s sound this hysterically dramatic? Some narcissistic people have no fricking idea how stupid they sound, and how someone (like me) might want to slap them up alongside their empty talking heads. (1): he IS RECOVERING (2): he will eventually get to BE WITH his family again. (3): 1 week … 2 weeks is NOT FOREVER. chris cuomo is caught up in the grip of fear. And anderson cooper is milking it, for all it is worth.

I shut the phone off, put my hairbrush away – and walked into the the kitchen to plug the coffee pot in. It was going to be another day of walking, here in the real world.

My real world is filled with realities, no projected ‘what if’s’ everyone seems to be gorging themselves on lately.

The realities of MY world is that my husband did not recover from the illness that killed his physical body and set his spirit free 477 days/1 hour/40 minutes ago. I never got to worry about a ‘secondary superbug’ that may or may not lay him low for another 10 days. We … Bob and I … were not given a reprieve from the illness that has tilted my world that may never be righted again.

I don’t begrudge Elohim calling Bob Home. I wouldn’t request Bob returned back to me, even if I could – I know Bob is better off where he is now; enjoying life beyond the clouds.

But it pisses me off hearing people caught up in hysterical fear being coached into more hysterical fear by fear-mongering media talking heads pandering to an empty society that thrives on hysteria in order to feel alive.

I had to get out of the house. 1,600 square feet was not big enough to escape the squeezing of my heart that makes me feel trapped when it sets in. I needed fresh air blowing on my face. I needed wide open spaces.

I didn’t care what inslee thought about my course of action.

inslee is not living my life. inslee doesn’t know; and he doesn’t care that all his indefinite state-wide mandate to ‘sit and shelter at home’ means to me, is 1,600 feet of 4 walls closing in on me and holding me hostage to thoughts I’d rather not be thinking; and memories I’d rather not be revisiting during this time if global mourning. I don’t mourn. I am a widow – yes: but, I don’t engage in mourning.

I can’t allow myself to be pulled into a global meltdown.

I am walking a thin tightrope, as it is, in my own life; juggling my own stuff.

I didn’t mourn Bob’s passage from this life to the next. I did grieve, eventually: and I am still grieving to a certain degree … but I do not engage in mourning.

I engage in life.

I engage in living.

I only have 1 life to live – I fully intend to live it without anyone’s permission. HOW I live my life is for ME to decide. Whether this earthen vessel that houses my spirit lives or dies, is for Elohim to decide. I do not answer to man. I did answer to Bob, on occasion, when he was here on earth. But, Bob is no longer here ... I answer now only to Elohim, and to myself. 

I got dressed, grabbed my travel coffee mug, and pointed the nose of the Horizon towards Riverside County Park. I hadn’t been there in a while, and though it is a popular place for people to gather, I knew walking along the dike would be a fairly solitary activity: it always is, no matter how busy the grassy part of the Park is.

Driving along West Side Highway, I saw Kerby’s Fish Market was open for business. I nipped in …

Everyone behaved. We all used common sense in social distancing, employees were friendly, kind, and worthy of respect; the service was efficient, and the food was anticipated: Kerby’s always has good food. I placed my order, waited in the car for it, and drove to the Park to eat it:

Fish ‘n Chips w-Sweet Potato Fries

Coleslaw and Tarter Sauce

While I ate, 2 little boys riding their bikes, stopped at a proper distance from me and started chatting with me. They were 4 and 5 respectfully – my grandson Azariah will be 6 in June; I refused to allow tears to gather. I miss him so much. I watched them pedal off: and wondered as they disappeared from sight, if Aza gets to ride his bike. When Bob went into the hospitals full time, he never saw Azariah again – Stacey didn’t allow it. When asked by his medical attendees what he’d like to do if he got better and got sprung from the hospitals … Bob always replied, without any hesitation, that’s he’d feed the squirrels at Riverside Park; and spend time with our grandson.

Bob never fed the squirrels – or spent time with Aza, ever again.

I do not know if I will ever see our grandson again. Currently, Stacey is not allowing it.

So, the world; and inslee, will just have to find it in their hysterical hearts to forgive me for wanting to halt the hysteria wildfires from encroaching on my life. I have enough of my own concerns to keep my mind occupied.

I grabbed my walking stick from the back of the Horizon, and hoofed it to the dike where my hike began …

Walking the dike along the Cowlitz River. Kelso, WA

There are a lot of memories associated with this Park. This is only the third time I’ve been back. The first time I revisited, was weeks after my new life status was bumped from wife to widow: it started raining half way through the hike, and I finished the whole 2 miles in drenching rain. I was soaked by the time I reached the car. I realize now I was walking without thinking or feeling – I was reacting. I didn’t know then, that I had picked up a case of pneumonia and influenza from the two hospitals I had been camped out in with Bob during his final days: I wasn’t thinking clearly at all, and I wanted the comfort of a familiar place to sooth my heartbroken weary soul. I got desperately sick after that first revisit. The second revisit was in June 2019, after Keenager’s (a Senior Meet n-Greet at the Columbia Heights Baptist Church). I forced myself to do the hike … and to stop at El Ranchero, the Mexican restaurant we always ate at following our hikes. It was hard to do both – but, I managed. Now, it is easier to do both.

I have never battled the widowing angst some widow’s do – the feeling of wanting to dwell in the past v.s. living in the present. I am astute enough to realize that the past is irrevocably gone: I can’t get it back, and I can never live with Bob again; that part of my life is over. I may revisit it occasionally because Memory Lane is the only place now, where I can hear my husband’s laughter, hear his voice, and watch him interact and play with our children and grandchildren. But those are limited visits … I am living in the present as best I can, and yes: it is a real struggle. But the now is reality. The now may seem surreal, but it is all that is real in this, my new life. I am adjusting. Slowly; but adjusting, just the same.

I like hiking. I always have – hiking is therapeutic to me. I have joined a Hiking Club, so now I need to get back into hiking shape so that when the club starts hiking again, my hiking stamina is where it needs to be. Hiking county parks is how I choose to build that stamina back up:

$15 million dollar Lexington Bridge, Kelso.

I can smell the memories – love is all around me.

My pretty girl, Precious. Half Timber Wolf/half Gray Wolf. She loved to walk with us on this dike. We had to have a prong collar on her in the Park, but she ran free along the dike trail.

Now Bob & Precious walk all over Heaven while they wait for me to arrive too :-D

Rabbit Trail Loop

A memorial for some animal named 'Oreo'; possibly a rabbit. 1 rock has a rabbit figure painted on it.

Remembrance about Bob & Kerby’s

Loon - there are 2 of them, but 1 swam to hug the bank when I aimed the camera at them.

Nearly 3 miles ...  maybe. Not sure how to read this thing yet.

Drinking cold coffee and watching memories no one else can see ...

The battle I face as a widow isn’t the pulling between past and present lives, but more of a realistic trying to figure out how to carry the past I loved with me into a future I must live as a solo lobo. I miss Bob every day – every.single.day. There are days I miss him, and I do alright. Then, there are those days I miss him, and I’m a mess: it hurts so bad, that the weight of the missingness makes it hard to breathe, much less function. I want to share life’s ups and downs with him – to talk things over with him when big decisions have to be made: I want to seek his advice; I want to hear him bark out a laugh when something happens that the two of us would think is funny – I want to share moments with him. But, I also know that I am learning to love and appreciate my present … in the now … and everything that is unfolding and spreading out before me as time marches forward. I think I can be honest in stating that I have never compared the past to my present because it would be futile. Like comparing apples and oranges – there is no comparison; they are two totally different things, involving two totally different people. My now deserves just as much attention as our then. Both lives are precious in their own right; both lives serve a purpose, and I have to use what our then has shaped in me, in order to successfully make a new and meaningful life for me in my now.

It was a good day at Riverside Park – I managed to hike ALL of the dike trail (both sides of the highway) without breaking a sweat. I did get a little short winded, but it was a lengthy hike, I am 63, and scotch broom was in bloom ;-)

When I got back home, I changed from jeans into a skirt (I bet Bob’s mouth fell open in Heaven, when he saw me in a skirt; LOL), and relaxed. I don’t know when I drifted off … but, I woke up around Supper time. Apparently, my body wanted the same release from unwanted stress my mind and spirit were freed from earlier in the day ;-)

My niece, Sara, texted me in the evening to say she loved me and is thinking of me – I am sure Bob was smiling. Sara is like a daughter to us.

Today was a good day. Love is all around me :-D