MILESTONES ENDURANCE TEST

To date – as of right now – I have lived 334 days without Bob’s physical presence in my life.

10 months; 8,008 hours & 29 minutes.

I am living the best I know how.

Solo.

And dying a little each minute of every day.

There are days Bob’s physical death still seems so surreal. Those are the days I manage to get through the day – but have no fricking idea how-what-where-when-or why. As I crawl into bed, I ask myself where the day went so quickly; and what I did with it.

Other days, when the amputated part of my bleeding heart starts throbbing and forcing me to feel the full force of his absence in my new life … the “knowing” literally sucks the air our of my lungs, leaving me gasping for breath and shaking like a leaf in one of Fall’s windy furies: alone & desperately hanging on.

And some days I actually hear myself enjoying parts of my life: I am conversing with friends, and I am even laughing. And I know Bob can see me and hear me. Bob is still alive – just not in the flesh. Bob is more alive now then he has ever been.

BUT MAN! I.M.I.S.S.M.Y.M.A.N.

This morning I woke up crying.

My new life was missing Bob.

Even in my sleep.

I woke up remembering his hands – and how they felt on me. I remember how they held a hamburger before his teeth bit into it. I remember how his hands held the steering wheel … and how his large hand would reach for my hand over the car console & curve tenderly around my small hand; almost covering my hand completely. And sometimes how he would tickle the palm of my hand with his long fingers while smiling his sexy smile and wiggling his eyebrows playfully at me while I laughed.

I know Bob’s hands and his hands' actions ... his touch by heart.

My heart remembered what it felt like to have his arms around me; to have my life wrapped up in his love.

I woke up crying.

My life misses my husband.

Bob was a tall man: 6’2” … I had to stand on my toes to kiss his check – and sometimes, in a playful mood, he would sweep me off my feet and swing me around in a circle while I squealed like a little girl before he set my feet back on the ground. My ears ring with the memory of how we both laughed at our silliness.

 

He had to bend over and lean his arms on the kitchen island to look into my eyes. Bob does not have to be here in the flesh for me to remember what it was like to stand next to my gentle giant.

I can feel Bob’s energy all around me, even though he casts no shadow any longer.

This afternoon, I drove into town to pick up a couple cases of bottled water, and become a bona fide member of the Senior Center.

At Winco, I loaded 6 cases of water into the back end of the Highlander … and then I drove a few feet further down the road to pick up my Membership Card. And I cried passing under the overhead traffic light, on my way to the Senior Center.

My new life was missing Bob.

While I was standing at the counter, paying for my card, an old friend of ours spotted me, and I heard, “Hey! Val!” I turned around, and there was Denise, smiling and coming towards me. She is a widow too. 2 years older than me. We chatted, exchanged phone numbers, and promised to get together – I like Denise, and though she and Bruce were more Bob’s friends than mine (Bruce and Bob were friends all through High School & their first marriages, and Bruce’s dating of Denise before Bob & I became a couple), I think she and I can become close friends – we have an air-tight bond already called Widowhood. We can talk about our husbands and share our lives and memories with each other (things we can’t share with our children); we will not be dwelling in/getting lost in the twilight zone.

Membership Card effective from today through 2020

When I settled back in the car, I thought about the step I had just taken: to make a decisive decision to become part of something by myself – this decision was not a joint decision made with my husband. I did this solo. Aside from Denise, which I knew a little bit before, any friends I gain here, at the Senior center will be made entirely on my own … except for Denise, they will all be strangers to me. None of them – besides Denise – knew Bob. That is a bittersweet thought. Bob was a great guy to know.

Everyone felt this way about Bob, not just his High School pals. Bob was liked by everyone who ever had the pleasure of meeting him.

I sure miss Bob.

And somehow, I have survived this Widowhood Journey, just like Bob knew I would this time last year. Bob is still the wind beneath my wings – and his love will help me soar above the debilitating sorrow when it strikes out of the blue. For no apparent reason other than my new life is missing Bob in it.

I am learning to roll with the rebirthing metamorphosis that is taking place. It is an ongoing process: my old life came undone at 8:05 a.m. last December 14^th, 2018 … and I have been running around like a chicken with its head cut off, trying to find lingering remnants of Bob in the lives of family members for the better part of this year: but he is not there; their lives do not hold any remnants of him in them. Only MY memories and MY love honor him and keep my husband’s memory alive. So, this month – a full year from when Bob told me I would learn to live again, “… because we both know Val, that whatever you set your mind to do, is as good as done …”, I have arrived here – in this moment of decisive decision.

Exhausted.

And somewhat tousled.

But here. In the present. Establishing roots and catapulting my new life forward.

Solo.

Decisively.

And the kids are partly responsible for that decisive decision to send my tap root down deeply in establishing a new life, here. Locally.

I have decided ... once and for all ... to stay put & build a new life here. Locally – in the home Bob bought & made for me. Permanently.

The road Elohim has laid before me has not been a smooth one. It has been filled with blind spots and poor GPS readings. I have been blinded, sideswiped, near T-boned, and steered by cruel emotional high-jackers down rough-rutted-holey goat trails where I was abandoned and left to find my way back home: completely alone for the first time in my entire life. But I made it through safely.

Because Elohim was faithful.

And Bob’s love surrounds me.

I also received news this evening that another old friend’s brother had passed earlier today. It was expected news, but still hard to hear. My thoughts go out to David and his family members. Bob worked with David’s Dad, as well as with David when he was a logger. I have known David & his family for 53 years – ever since my family moved here in 1966 from Minnesota. David was a grade above me in school - Debbie was in my class. She was my sister ramona's best friend all through childhood and early adulthood. David's first wife, Marla & I, were friends for 30 years - until cancer finally claimed her: our children grew up together. I didn’t know Dwaine as well as I knew David and Debbie, because Dwaine was older, but what I remember about Dwaine was that he was always smiling.

Death is always lurking.

And somehow – some way – we survive it’s toll on our lives.

I don’t know about anyone else dealing with the toll death extracts from us, but I am tired. Living without Bob these past 10 months feels like an endurance test I wasn’t sure I could endure as the stresses piled on/up – I could actually feel my heart race and then stop … to sputter to life again. It still limps along, trying mightily to fully ignite. I am sure there were times my blood pressure spiked as I was forced through obstacle courses designed to test my physical, emotional and spiritual limits. Though it was never really diagnosed by a physician, I KNOW my breath stopped several times … and I still experience breathlessness: separate from the environmental asthma issue.

My old life desperately missed Bob, and went through a Period of Adjustment that lasted – well, frankly, it is STILL going through a period of adjustment.

My new life misses Bob in it.

Neither life gave me a chance to train for this endurance test; it caught us both off guard. As far as we knew, no one was supposed to die yet; certainly not Bob when I took him to ER August 29^th, 2018.

I was unprepared for the endurance test I was expected to engage in.

I am still unprepared.

Even now, at this very moment, my amputated heart is trying to process what has happened, and my sputtering brain is trying to drag me back to the Land of The Living.

This has been going on for 47-1/2 weeks.

I am passing {1^st’s} milestones with each passing week.

And each month I become stronger.

I am healing.

And I am no longer going around obstacles that keep me hamstrung … I am leaning into them & blowing through them … on my way towards the goalpost touchdown.

I intend to win this endurance test.

Solo.

Decisively.

Perhaps not with flying colors, but certainly with an Award.

Even if I have to design it and give it to myself.

Bob would be proud of me … I can almost hear him laughing with my small successes and applauding my small halting steps forward ;-)

Bob, 2016

I love you, Babe.

Always.

OX

SUNDAY FUNDAY 4

Last week I received a text asking me if I had Alyna’s Parking Ticket – I did; and while doing laundry (also, last week) I realized I had left some clothing at the kids’ apartment: so, we made arrangements to meet and exchange what we were both missing.

Yesterday I drove to Sauvie’s Island to make the exchange. It was a nice drive – the weather was good, I felt strong enough to listen to Zemer Levav coming over the car surround speakers (something I had procrastinated doing because we both like that messianic band and I didn’t want to be driving blinded by tears), and I was looking forward to seeing my grandchildren. Liam, Alyna’s fiancé counts as one of my grandchildren. He is family.

Despite the hurt inflicted earlier this month, the meeting went well & it was a Funday: it is always a fun day when I get to spend time with the grandkids. The grandkids were not involved in the actual fallout earlier this month – other than suffering flying shrapnel wounds; and they are trying to work towards an amicable solution to this decades’ long situation.

We'll see.

This is a complicated situation, as you all know if you have been following my Blog posts (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/11/catharsis.html & https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/11/hitching-up-my-wagon.html).

I didn’t cry; I would not allow myself to cry.

Parking Ticket in Alyna’s purse; hugs freely given … and my laundry stashed in my car, we pulled out of the parking lot and turned towards our separate destinations.

Passing through Scappoose on the way home, I decided to get a Subway sandwich to eat at home – again, this is something I have been procrastinating doing because it is something Bob & I did together and I try to avoid emotional situations while driving. But, I managed to place the order without choking up: I decided to order a sandwich Bob would have enjoyed instead of my usual Chicken Ranch Sandwich. As I was leaving, the person who waited on me said, “I love your glasses by the way; they are simply awesome.” And I smiled, and said, “Thank you. My husband picked them out for me.”

Thoughts of Bob always makes my days fun.

Front view of my funky cat-eye glasses.

Bob & I were in Cascade Eye 2 years ago to have our eyes checked/get new glasses, when we walked past a display and Bob pointed to a pair of glasses and said, “Hey Val. What do you think of those glasses?” He was joking with me because they were pretty flamboyant – BUT, I LIKED them.

So, I said, “Thanks Babe for pointing them out to me, I like ‘em – I think I’ll get ‘em.” The look on his face was priceless! He was joking – he didn’t expect them to be walking out the door with us.

And I later bought a pair of craft scissors to match:

My funky craft scissors to match my funky glasses.

Later on, at home, I enjoyed my Chicken Sweet-Onion-Teriyaki Sandwich.

Thinking of how much Bob always liked this kind of sandwich.

And I didn’t cry.

I am healing.

I love you, Babe.

Always.

OX

HITCHING UP MY WAGON …

… and heading into the great unknown.

Fog horns in the misty fog & raucous geese flying over the house. These are the sounds that greeted my ears when my eyes slowly opened this morning – where we bought this house, and where I live now solo, is a busy thoroughfare for the geese; going out and flying in. I like the heralding squawking of the geese … excited: like they are going on a great adventure :-D

I like the sounds of Fall. Mystery riding the zephyrs of November.

Ships passing in the fog; geese temporarily changing locales.

Fog Horn sound: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fwnMe9-3JcY

Canadian Geese formation

Heading into the unknown.

And I am thinking, as I slowly wake up, on where I would like my new life to go.

Comparing it to when the pilgrims left their homes, boarded ships, and set their faces to look forward – into the great unknown. And, too, when the pioneers left their homes, loaded their wagons, hooked up their draft animals and looked forward – setting their determination towards unknown & uncharted territory. That is how I feel my life is right now: my new life, in which nothing of the old life is left.

What will 2020 bring to me?

I’m standing on the precipice of change.

But I am going to meet that change head-on; I’m not gonna be scared of it – it’s something I have to do. So I can get on with life the way Bob expects me to. And, there’s really nothing to hold me back.

The kids have always been rotten to me; they just always have been. There’s really no real reason for it. There really isn’t any reason for all this trauma drama. I always understood Alex’s hatred of me – he exhibited a dislike at the beginning, and that morphed into a bitter hatred as time progressed: he never accepted our marriage. He always treated me badly. In his mind, he always treated me like I was the reason his parent’s divorced: that isn’t true, but that is how he saw it; he was a child caught up in a messy life situation. He was 4 years old when his parent’s separated for the last/final time, and he was 5 years old when his father and I married. He never grew out of the mindset that eventually his parents would reconcile and get back together. That wasn’t reality then … and it’s not reality now. And of course, it will never happen now because Bob is no longer among the flesh and bone. That said, I always understood that hatred, and did my best to rise above it and build a life where Alex was included in our life regardless of his bitter hatred. He was Bob’s son; and I loved Bob.

Stacey’s hatred, I never understood. There really isn’t any real reason for it, other than she saw Alex treating me bad and jumped on that crazy train in a childish fervor to stand in solidarity with her brother, whose attention she was trying to capture – she wanted Alex to acknowledge her. He never did.

The kids are society’s children; they are petulant brats that don’t think of anybody else – they stay focused on themselves. And they nurse imagined hurts. It’s not right thinking.

All I KNOW personally … ALL I KNOW for certain … is that Bob & I loved each other. We met while Bob was going through a divorce; we fell in love & decided to build a life together. Bob had a 4-1/2 year old son from a previous marriage, who turned 5 shortly before we married: and I got pregnant almost immediately after we married. Bob & I used to laugh that before the ‘honeymoon week’ was over, Stacey was ‘on the way.’ And we did the best we could – we were young; Bob was 24 & I was 17 – we were forging a life: we were building it as we went along. As with all new things, and new experiences, we were getting to know each other and raise a family. As best we could. Building a life as we went along. Bob was maturing, I was growing up; and Bob was helping me grow up. Bob was giving me a sense of direction. I came from a family where there was no sense of direction; I was raised in a bohemian/beatnik/hippie lifestyle; there was no direction; there was no real discipline in that world. Bob was a stabilizing influence in my life. He helped me become an adult … and I think I am a pretty good adult ;-) Bob helped me “become” – and I helped him become also: we were 2 halves coming together to make a whole.

We had children. And had twice, during the first 7 years of our marriage, dealt with Bob's death's (once from a blood clot that passed through a lung and killed him in front of me, & another the doctors never did find out why). And there was NO help from either side of our extended family in helping with our children while I took care of Bob: there just was NO help. Bob’s parents were raising children of their own from 8 to 14: and they were very aloof people; my mother … there is no way I can begin to describe my mother: she was never interested in being a mother – she just wasn’t ready to grow up herself; and she let me know she wasn’t ready to be a grandparent. She flat out told me that. She was a flight-by-night person; she liked to party: she liked to go out, she liked to go to the bars at night, and house parties in the afternoons … and she took her teenage children with her to the house parties. She just was not interested in being a parent. And, Bob’s 1^st wife, Gloria, raised Alex the same way. My youngest sister – and my brothers too – have told me that I am the only mother they ever knew. My sister Ramona left home at 14, and she’s pretty much taken care of herself – which made her into a pretty bitter person. She’s not a very likable person. I tried the hardest, and longest with Ramona, because we are so close in age; but I gave up on that after what she and her husband did to Bob last October. Ramona has always been a cruel person … and she married an equally cruel person – and I just couldn’t deal with it anymore while Bob was dying last October. What they did was pretty bad & I cut them from my life; I won’t overlook their bad behaviors anymore.

Getting back to the kids … Bob & I did the best we could. We learned as we went along. Bob DIED TWICE and I had to give him the majority of my attentions because we were in serious situations – it could not be ignored to pamper the kid’s over-indulgent egos. Bob needed my immediate attention if he was ever to heal. And we could expect no help from either side of the family tree – our parents were inaccessible. I expected our kids to understand; instead, they got stuck on themselves & they are on perpetual life-long crazy-train pity-parties. Alex, always has been; as long as I’ve known him, he’s felt sorry for himself and he made our lives miserable. He hurt his father with the way he treated me and his sister. And he deliberately went out of his way to hurt me and try to destroy my trust in his father after Bob physically died. When Bob was walking among us in the flesh, I overlooked his behavior for Bob’s sake: but when he started with me this past July, I just couldn’t accept it anymore. So, when he gave me an ultimatum … I let him walk away. And I have been enjoying the peace from that end. It has been very quiet, and I like that.

I made excuses for Stacey because she is our daughter, and I love her. She is our love child & was the apple of Bob’s eye when she was born. He doted on her. She was Bob’s pride and joy … until she was about 14. Things started changing about then and her angsts were getting out of control. She was 16 when she stormed out of the house, screaming she hated us and would never live under our roof again. I was terrified for her – I remembered when Ramona left home at 14: I KNEW what Stacey would be facing. I immediately sent Bob out looking for her and begging him to talk her into coming back home. I said, “Bob, please! She’s only 16! She doesn’t understand what she is setting into motion for the rest of her life. Everyone she thinks will be there, won’t: no one is going to shelter her. All those people that told her to emancipate herself are not going to be there for her. Try to bring her back home.” While Bob was out looking for her and trying to talk her into coming back home, a friend we had at that time, drove up the driveway and tried to help also – she was a witness to what was happening. She could see that I was very upset: not for how Stacey had been treating me, but I was upset because I was scared for my daughter, for what she was doing to her life. I was hurt; but I was more worried about my daughter because she didn’t understand what she was setting into motion. The adults – her father, me, our friend – we all understood very well what was happening: Stacey never came home. And her life has been in a constant downward spiral ever since. She has just never accepted any responsibility at all for where her life is now. And she has constantly blamed me. It’s not logical. She will blame me until the day she dies, and she doesn’t know that any help she got was because of me: I am the one that asked around about her to see how she was doing. I am the one that tried to get her the help she so desperately needed/needs. I am the one that funneled monies to her – ANY HELP SHE GOT FROM HER FATHER was because of me. She never knew that – she doesn’t know that help came from me because if she knew, she would never have accepted it. She took it, always made sure in snide remarks that I understood her father was helping her, and continued to snap at me; and I let it go because I knew the truth. And she needed the help. It would have changed nothing if I told her that I was the one helping her – she wouldn’t have heard it over the hatred ringing in her ears. So, her father & I let it go over the years. When the grandchildren came along, we helped with the raising of them when they were infants, and the care of Alyna as she moved into the teen years – again, help I gave because I love my daughter and my grandchildren. 

Bob was done with Alex & Stacey years ago. I hung on, hoping they would eventually come around. They didn’t. And they probably never will.

ANY HELP the kids ever got ... came from me; through their father. There was not anything done that I was not aware of, and did not have the final word on. So, I KNOW the hurtful things the kids have been shouting at me these past 10 months is utter bullshit.

I honestly do not know why our life has gone down the path it has, other than Alex & Stacey have decided that their hatred of me is more important than family unity. It’s unfounded hatred. It’s crazy hatred. It is hatred that is eating them alive; they are both miserable people that have made their family miserable. They both are suffering debilitating illness that are the direct result of hatred running rampant through their bodies – and they refuse to see that. Everyone else can see that; doctors can see that, I can see that, their father saw that, people who know us and have been watching the trauma drama for decades see that: but Alex & Stacey will never see it. They will never acknowledge that they are the problem and that only they can fix the problem by growing up and behaving like civilized human beings: instead, they will continue to feed their anger and bitterness, and whip themselves into insane furies. And they will continue to deteriorate, because that is what hate and bitterness does. I can’t be a part of that anymore.

I am done with it.

I won’t be their whipping boy anymore.

This time, I am doing the walking …

I have my own stuff I’m going through - I have to find a way to get through it. It's scary. It's frustrating, It's confusing. It's lonely. I AM DEALING WITH REAL ISSUES!

Bob's physical death is real.

My grief is real; the pain generated by the loos of my husband's presence in my life is a real and valid thing - it isn't something imagined or made up to get attention.

The kid's betrayal is real. It discredits them more than it dishonors their father - which it does.

The kid's emotional & psychological abuse towards me is real.

I AM DEALING WITH REAL ISSUES.

I am tired of carrying the kids' unrealistic and unrepentant shit.

Both kids are narcissistic hostiles, and I need to move away from that – I can’t deal with that ridiculous and hurtful nonsense right now. I don’t want to deal with their unfounded hatreds anymore. I just don’t. It’s unfair. It’s really unwarranted; and I don’t deserve it.

So.

I’m packing up all my emotions in that regard, hitching up my wagon … and moving forward. I don’t know what the future holds, but I know that it has to be better than what I am living now.

I know I am not the only person going through this type of situation – it feels like it, for sure, but listening to & reading some of the vocal declarations, & FB posts from other widows in the several Widows Groups I am part of locally & globally, there are several people going through similar situations & circumstance who are struggling like I am. It’s sad, but I can’t allow myself to get sucked into the kid’s bratty hatreds just because they are our kids. I just can’t do that.

I know I am not the only person in the world whose family has disintegrated after death, I know I am not the only mother in the world feeling the wrath of their children, I know I am not the only grandmother in the world, that is not part of their grandchildren’s lives. It’s hurtful. It’s unfair. It’s cruel. I can’t change that. I’ve tried over the years – I’ve tried. But now, I’m just gonna quit trying. The kids & grandkids are 49, 44, 29, 24, 22 & 5 respectfully; they know where I live – they know my phone number. They know what they are doing is wrong. Its up to them to change it. But, if they ever shake themselves awake and decide to come around again, I don’t think I will ever consider them trustworthy people – any of them. And that’s sad.

But, this is my life; currently. And we’ll see where it goes as I head into the unknown.

We’ll see where it goes.

I MADE IT THROUGH THE RAIN

Saturday morning, I woke to see a wet street when I glanced out the livingroom windows; the day was wet and foggy all day long.

Right off at the Grange, a petition was passed around to sign; the vendors are not happy that table costs will be going up $10 next Fall. I didn’t sign the paper because there wasn’t any point to doing so: the decision had already been made & set in place … and the tables in town are going for $25/table. Foot traffic is pretty much the same here and there. Bazaars are kinda falling by the wayside with online Etsy shopping. Only die-hard Bazaar faithful’s bother to get out of their houses and browse local Bazaars. And die-hard crafters, like myself, will pay the table fee regardless of the foot traffic.

I like the country. I like Granges; Granges are something I can get behind – public schools and churches not so much. I am a hard-core Home Education Advocate (have been since at least 1966 when I first saw Home Schooling happening; I told Bob when I found out I was pregnant that I wanted to Home Educate - but his Grandmother was the first school teacher to Eden Valley, and she later became Wahkiakum County Superintendent of Public Schools, so he did not get behind Home education until 1989). I just can’t support public or private schooling, so I tend to avoid those openings: and churches have gone the way of vineyard cult doctrine, so I can’t back that nonsense either. But I don’t mind spending my money f it’s something I can get behind. It really is getting hard to find a Bazaar venue anymore that I can support, so when I DO find one, I don’t mind paying the table fee because I know it’s going towards a purpose and a cause I agree with. I upset some people today because I wouldn’t sign the protest paper – but I can’t help that; I have to follow my own conscience, and it really doesn’t matter how many signatures got on that paper: it is already a done deal.

A guy and his gal stopped by my table and liked the American Revolution Finger Puppets set I designed & crafted ... so he bought John Adams. He was very friendly and talkative - and he didn't bat an eye at the price tag. They walked around, and he bought something from every vendor; but he stopped at my table first ;-)

(https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2018/08/mod-old-glory-americana-finger-puppet.html)

MOD John Adams Finger Puppet (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2018/07/old-glory-americana-finger-puppet-set.html)

Guy & his gal

At one point, I looked up and saw a flag fluttering in the wet breeze. Veteran’s Day is Monday ...

I saw some old friends too: they stopped by the table for a few minutes of chit-chat. We had a nice visit; we haven’t seen each other face-to face for a while: Linda, of course, is a FB Friend as well as an old friend. Bob & I always enjoyed visiting with them:

Linda & Chuck. Chuck & I had a good visit while Linda browsed; we talked a little about how we can feel our loved one - who went before us - around us still.

It was a good 2 days & I did pretty good: I made table costs, and then some. And my bins were considerably lighter when I loaded up to bring them back home :-D

I am content.

I made it through the rain and did okay ;-)

PLEASANT HILL BAZAAR

The river traffic was pretty intense Friday morning; the deep droning of the fog horns woke me up around 4:30 a.m.; but that was okay – they were my ‘alarm clock’ getting me up and moving so I could be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by the time it was time to walk out the door to get to the Grange on time. I like the sound of the fog horns … and I never minded the sound of the trains clattering over the tracks when we lived on Merritt Drive. To me, it’s soothing. Bob didn’t mind the fog horns, but he wasn’t keen on the tracks’ noise.

Coming down Nevada Drive towards West Side Highway, I passed a house door that already had a Christmas Wreath on it! It’s not even Thanksgiving yet … the holiday impatience just gets worse and worse every year.

I have always liked doing the Pleasant Hill Bazaar; there isn’t much foot traffic – but the other vendors, the shoppers that find their way to us, and the Grange hosts are fun people to be around. I was laughing a lot today: I like that. I needed the laughter. And I made sales today. I did spend some of my earned cash … I signed up for an upcoming Bazaar in December – and I bought a small table-top Christmas Tree from Connie which I can place on the fireplace mantle the end of this month; I usually walk away with something off Connie’s tables, she has some awesome stuff at good prices. I’ll probably buy some more tomorrow ;-)

And I signed on for a 2^nd Bazaar – in Castle Rock, December 7^th @ the Senior Center there: it will be my 1^st ever Bazaar in Castle Rock; there have been Bazaars in Castle Rock over the years, but they have all been very inclusive, shutting outside vendors out. So, this will be a new experience; and I am looking forward to it. If they are reaching out, how could I turn the invite down? I like Castle Rock, and I don’t mind the drive to get there – it’s not that far away. Bob & I visited the Senior Center there about 2 years ago, and I know where it is located. I wasn’t thinking of doing a 2^nd Bazaar this year, but … this one in Castle Rock will be, again, in a country setting; I am familiar with the drive and location: and the foot traffic won’t be overwhelming. I think I can do it without stressing myself out.

I don’t do Bazaars with the hope of making enough for a vacation cruise, or to pay off my mortgage – people who have that mindset will be sorely disappointed. I do Bazaars because my hands are always busy - I like to craft; and my mind is always in process, thinking on an impromptu design. And I get a bang out of other people liking my designs and actually paying money to walk away with one of my 1-of-a-kind designs … which are a little quirky, like me ;-)

When I first started doing Bazaars, about 12 years ago, Bob thought it was a waste of time because I would never recoup the $$$ put into the venture. But I told him, “It’s not about the money Bob – it’s about the art: and the pleasure of seeing someone else appreciate what my mind comes up with and my hands work up. If I make just enough to recoup the table fee and the yarn costs, I’m okay with that – if I make more, that’s okay too. For me; it’s not about the money.” I did the first few Bazaars on my own, going as far as Winlock. And Bob, who was skeptical to start with, was amazed – then proud of me, when the $$$ started rolling in :-D And he started joining me on the Bazaar Circuit after he retired 7 years ago: we spread out - from Winlock to Vancouver ... I won't do Vancouver alone now; maybe Winlock, next year. This year I am staying relatively local. Bob was a good help for me. He was my GPS in the flesh - he could get us wherever I wanted to go without consulting a map: he knew the PNW. He helped me load and unload my bins before and after each event. He was a people watcher as well as a social butterfly, and generated a lot of business for me with his jovial personality. He liked my quirky creations, and he beamed with pride when other vendors, and happy customers complimented me on my handiwork. He came to understand that while making $$$ was an added bonus, the real enjoyment was being in the moment: the environment, the companionship, the friendships made/kept thru the years with the event hosts, the other vendors, and my returning customers who sought me out & sent their friends to my table. I even got so many side orders, I had to halt that because there wasn't enough time to get the side orders made up, shipped out, and restock my Bazaaar Bins.

I really missed having Bob with me today.

Hot dog lunch … Bob’s favorite food. Bob could live on hot dogs; I always kept the ‘fridge & freezer stocked with them.

But I didn’t cry.

After I got home, I unpacked the bathroom boxes. That took an hour & a half. Everything is now totally unpacked and back in place. I am here for the duration. Longview was where Bob always felt comfortable, so I am putting down roots here and staking my claim ... and candy scott can kiss my fat white ass. Bob wanted me to keep the house; and I am going to DO that, now that the kids have cut me loose. Longview was Bob's town - and now, it is my town. I will learn to get comfortable in it. I will rebuild my life here, and spread my wings navigating the surrounding counties.

I will be Bob's legacy.

I love you, Babe.

 

Always.

OX