My life has changed so much since December 2018. I remarried January 7th, 2023 ... we sold the house, sold our vehicles - and bought a new 4x, a puppy, & a 5th Wheel to travel the mainland States and experience life in the slow lane. As always I record e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g. happening in my life: I will share lots of pics & vids of our USA travels: I hope you enjoy our Blog.
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 1st, 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 14th,
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
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.
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 spaceis 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.
I got out for a walk this afternoon – at Willow Grove Park, on the Columbia River. My neighborhood is pretty hunkered down, and I want to respect that … so I leave when I want to go walking. This afternoon, my feet were saying to me, “take me to the river” - and this song popped into my head :-D
Park open - specific areas are closed to the public.
Whole body balance a necessity for me. Especially now. It's unhealthy for widows to be shuttered away and shut off from the process of life in the moment - THAT IS ALL WE HAVE.
Bird nest in the tree tops.
I am not being "a difficult old woman"; I literally am solo-loboing on walking trails. I am not engaging in 'wholesale population elimination'. I am doing my own thing responsibly.
Ship anchored; won’t be able to move until the tide comes up.
Pretty little pink wildflowers to brighten the overcast gray sky, and to add a spot of cheer in this chaotic time of our lives.
Lichens and mosses. Lichens live long, and grow slow. Lichens are a blended species made of 2 organisms - fungi & algae. Lichens can range from hundreds of years old ... to near immortal status. Their patterns fascinate me.
A little gust of wind picked up along the riverfront trail, a few sprinkles started falling – and the water started getting choppy; so, I took brief shelter under a small grove of trees and weathered it out until the sun came out again …
Wind and rain picked up briefly.
Steamer Clam shells among driftwood debris; seagulls are not the only ones who eat these delicious clams. Bob loved them in butter sauce. I like them too.
Paradox - the angry churning waves are actually soothing.
Rainbow inside a clam shell ...
Practicing common sense social distancing.
Barnacles entirely encasing a piece of driftwood. Barnacles are sea creatures that
live in shallow water environments. In their larvae stage, they attach
themselves to a hard, solid, surface: they stay in that spot for the rest of their
lives. They cannot survive outside a watery habitat.
Mussel shell. Mussels can be found in the Columbia River (where I am ), and also in the Kalama River. Mussels taste good!
Stopping at the Highlander to open the door
and grab the hand sanitizer on my way to the boat launch area, I thought I saw
a sandpiper … but researching the vid at home, I saw it was a Semipalmated
Plover.
Big Name for a small bird ;-)
This bird has partially webbed feet:
NOT a sandpiper ... a Semipalmated Plover.
Semipalmated Plover.
Semipalmated Plover' semi-webbed feet.
It’s about an hour walk around the whole length of the Park: including the upper end boat ramp section of the Park. I knew the restrooms would be open on that end – there are always people fishing: women fish too ;-)
I was breathless from speed walking with asthma; but I enjoy speed walking. And I carry my inhaler with me everywhere I go – even if I do not utilize it like I should. Steady use of asthma inhalers can cause cataracts … I don’t need that living a solo lobo life. I keep it on my person for emergencies; and choose my activities locales with wisdom (KNOW what’s in my surroundings that could inflame my lungs), and pacing myself so I don’t over exert. It can get tricky sometimes balancing the necessity of working my lungs to full capacity without shutting them down in a full-blown attack.
But I came to the point a looong time ago,
that I trust Elohim with my life 100% (even with my asthma, heart arrhythmia
– skips 2 beats, & angina conditions), and I will live as long as He
dictates. I refuse to freak out about death. It happens: it will happen to me
some day.
Nobody is walking in the neighborhood, and it’s pretty faceless out here too. It is important to exercise when a person has angina – I do … so, I do.
4 walls crowd me; and there is no one at home to talk with. I have got to get out of the house on a frequent basis to save my sanity.
Podcasts are saying the government is warning of an influx of 'sit-in-safety' psych cases after this virus blows over: I don't intend to be among those counted.
I talked to my youngest sister earlier in the
day – she is still working, and we will never agree on politics … but we love
each other, and THAT is what really matters. Heard from our oldest
granddaughter – she and her boyfriend are still working, and she says they are
doing okay. Also heard from our middle granddaughter – she is still not working,
but her husband is working part-time; she says they are doing okay; and staying
safe.
I am comforted knowing they are doing okay.
Hearing from my granddaughters cheers me, but
I sorely miss seeing them in person: I really miss seeing little handsome …
kids grow up so fast, and this is the ONLY grandchild I have missed watching
grow up before my eyes – and the only grandson: his expressions and characteristic
are so much like Bob. He was Bob’s shadow in every way.
Greatgrandchildren aren’t even on the radar :-(
I can’t allow other people’s paranoiac fears to
steal the joy from my life – I choose to see the beauty and humor in
everyday life … every second of it. I choose to love. Of course, I do have
strong opinions too, and a sarcastic tone when stating them; but underlying
that tone is a wondrous appreciation for life’s simple pleasures: people
caught up in the fearmongering hysteria of the moment are missing all that.
But, my way of thinking is this: you have got
to be able to look past the turbulence of life and see the beauty in life –
experience the wonder of this one life we are given … today, this very second,
will never come around again. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. And, you’ve got to see
the humor in unfurling life – even in chaotic times; especially in chaotic
times. Without those two things, life is meaningless.
I have never lived a meaningless life: I don’t
intend to start now.
President Trump gave another Press Briefing
this afternoon – on top of everything else mentioned, he threw a plug in for McCarthy:
I can 100% get behind McCarthy becoming Speaker of the House.
That caustic, undermining, self-important bitchy witch, pelosi has got to go.
That stupid walking plastic surgery billboard
in skirts with a chimpanzee face, keeps saying, “It’s not enough!” IF, it’s
not enough … why does she keep tacking on “some other things” (meaning, pet
agendas to further obama’s scheme of things) INSTEAD OF FOCUSING ON
coronavirus relief? Which is WHAT the spending is supposed TO BE ABOUT.
obama is NO LONGER in the Oval office – thank
You, Elohim!
And she’s delusional – she’s got to go. She
can’t even pronunciate coherently anymore. She needs to be put out to pasture …
faaaaar out; where she can no longer damage Americans and America.
