Author: Joy Hurt

Today, Month 8 starts anew for me. I was to take another mini vacation in Tahoe, but the storm over the weekend made me rethink all things I would like to and should do, being very alone. I decided to sit this one out and decorate for Christmas. I hadn’t decided on my monthly word until last night, when it came to me. Trust.

VST was not a trusting man. He was kind, insightful, and brilliant of mind. He was empathetic to a certain degree. Artistic, knowledgeable, and skillful in a multitude of areas. But, he was not a trusting man. That was destroyed on a Labor Day weekend long before I met him. I can honestly say, me being trustworthy to my soul and the true love of his life, even I never gained his full trust, as his injuries went way past those humanly repairable.

VST was street smart. He would always shake his head when I trustingly went ahead believing all kinds of things.

“Darlin’, think it through. It might SEEM like that is the way it is, but, what about…….”

He would be off and running to discredit liars and cheats we met through our decades together. Sadly, he was always right. Not 99% of the time. 100% of the time. And slowly, I stopped trusting many things myself. I just knew, I could and would always trust him with my life.

If VST told you he was going to do something, it would be done. If he said he would be at a certain place, he would be waiting. Goals and accomplishments set were completed with results exceeded.

In the 1900’s, when we were new, he explained something to me. Life was full of all kinds of people. Some were obviously in need of avoiding. Do that, he would tell me. The obvious ones, steer clear at all costs. We both agreed that was a good thing to do.

Then, there were a group of people that seemed nice enough. They weren’t robbers or cheats, but they were just those people that we wouldn’t ever really get to know very well. Nice people with nice lives that didn’t affect ours, they would never really be close friends. And, whatever situations they found themselves in, although we would listen, maybe even tearfully, they would remain just acquaintances.

Our inner circle was golden. True friends that we would go to war for or with. Some family fell inside that circle while some didn’t even make the first cut. And so, the Circle game began. By the end, he could just draw a circle on a napkin and we would immediately break into laughter, without anyone else even beginning to know what the joke was. Either in the circle or out of it.

Today, my innermost circle is void and empty without VST. We twirled and intertwined our Yin and Yang, contrary or opposite, and yet complementary, interconnected and interdependent, according to Hanyu Pinyin, a concept of dualism. That bubble of creativity that was us was unstoppable, or so I always believed. I never thought it could vanish into cancer. The place I am having trouble finding TRUST again is in that Yin/Yang center, finding opposing parts of myself to fill the void. No one else can do that for me. Without my own center balanced, I have little to offer to another. A mission set up for failure.

I am so blessed with those in my inner circle. The very BEST FRIENDS IN THE WORLD. OLD FRIENDS, AND NEW OLD FRIENDS. They call, visit, console, recommend, laugh, gasp, hold me, and are along for the ride. They are the ones I can trust to tell me when I am on the road to Crazy Town, and when I am on the right track. They tell me what I don’t want to hear when standing around the African Watering Hole. They remind me that I need to read my own blogs every day, and nourish my center. I love them for that.

VST taught me a lot about trust. He taught me that trusting another is the comfort that we all want and need. He taught me that a life without full trust is troubled, no matter how good things may seem on the outside. He reached his hand out to me during the last days of his life, showing me how far he had come on his journey. I treasured his trust more than I have any other person in my life, because, it was so hard for him to give.

I am trusting myself enough to know driving on ice in Tahoe for my first lesson in snow is not a great idea. I am trusting myself enough to know that the Veteran’s Coalition is going to be a great group in which to share my talents. I am trusting myself enough to know that things will get better with time, self love, and care. And, I am trusting myself to know that I am an intuitive judge of character, and that it’s okay to think about what my future could look like down the road.

Today, be grateful for those that have your back during this the darkest of times. They can see what we cannot at times, due to widow’s fog. Trust that they love you and will help you get through the wilderness on the way back home.

Through a stiff and painful night I tossed and turned, knowing that only half the job was finished after 8 hours. The new owner’s walkthrough was looming in 24 hours. I needed to unstiffened and get back to VC for one more more horrendous morning of cleaning. It couldn’t be as bad as the day before, right?

The drive to VC brought its usual flood of tears as I drove the 45+ miles. Through the flats, past the mountains, by the mustangs, turning on Six Mile Canyon Road. Up the twisty roads past the treated effluent that every newbie thinks is a wonderful mountain stream. Under the barren cottonwood trees, still my favorite. Up and up and up to 6200 ft and VC. In an hour, I was in the front driveway, Looking up at her. She, two stories high, scowling down at me.

Supplies and vacuum waiting from the day before, I got to work. My studio was bare, except for my large doll house. Another of my favorite hobbies. I wasn’t sure how to move it. I couldn’t lift it, let alone get it down the garage stairs and out to the Jeep. It remained. I cleaned.

My office with the post card view of VC through a wall of glass. The guest room. The closet.

When we bought the house, all the neighbors wanted to know what we were to do with two rooms that had no windows. Not one, but two. These rooms were part of Mt. Davidson, sunk deep into her side. Nine foot walls, holding Dunmovin steady and tight. The west walls of the basement were all without windows. One became my studio, while the other became a guest room, the perfect place when you needed absolute darkness on a sunny day. The remainder was a downstairs family room/kitchenette.

The problem with the guest room was that it had no closet. VST corrected this in January. I had noticed that this project was the one he had more trouble with than all the others combined. It was complicated and he was already sick. Angled and needing to look original, he spent hours making it perfect. Between his construction and my finish work, we succeeded, and another huge closet appeared. 9 ft. tall. Shelving on one side. Two rolling doors. Closet pole. Just like magic it appeared it had been there since 2004, like the rest of the house.

Two more downstairs bathrooms were scoured and shiny. The family room/kitchenette area was nearly complete. I was on the downside of done when I started on the kitchenette. This was another area of the house in which VST had installed beautiful dark cabinetry, as stately as the rest of the house. Granite countertops. Small Frig. Sink. Microwave. It was the perfect kitchen for guests. While the west side was nestled into the mountain, the East side of this room was all glass, overlooking yet another view of VC. The front door opened onto the lower deck, with stairs that led to A Street, neighbors, fun, and adventure.

So tired, and happy that I was almost done, I opened the first cabinet of 8, just to give it a quick once over. My eyes couldn’t believe what they were seeing. For in these 8 cabinets, overhead and under the counter, it was as if time had stopped. They weren’t packed. Nothing. Nada. All full of vases, dishes, Christmas stuff. Coffee cups. Party supplies. Extra silverware. ETC. ETC. ETC. I had missed the entire kitchenette when grieving, signing papers on two real estate transactions in two different towns, crying, mourning, watching Oliver, moving boxes, and all the rest. Basically, I had missed an entire room.

I was without moving boxes, as they were all at the new house. Tape, paper, and more energy to deal with this was not available. When the movers had finished the night before, the last items were pointed out one by one. After each, they were ready to leave, and we would find one more thing. I was determined NOTHING would be left to find in the morning. And, in the rest of the house, there wasn’t. It was just these cabinets that hadn’t been emptied and packed. There was no avoiding it. It needed to get done.

My tired brain remembered that there was still the garage to tackle. Just maybe there were some boxes there. Packing paper, no. But, boxes maybe. Five boxes remained, magically the number I needed. I carefully filled them and put them in the pickup. Non-breakables surrounded breakables, like an awkward jigsaw puzzle. After grumbling and mumbling, the basement was clean, with even the woodburning stove that had warmed us on so many winter nights glistening.

The garage was a beast of cobwebs, spiders, and the remains of a move. Two more hours on that, and after 6 hours, the house was cleaned. The lone item left was my dollhouse. The neighbor would meet me the next morning to place it in the Jeep. I had measured carefully. It would fit perfectly in the back. It would mean one more trip in the early morning to retrieve that last item.

Fourteen hours to say “Goodbye” to six years of our life together. The last six years created when we were sure we had 26 left. Would we have done it again? I can hear a resounding “Yes” from the heavens. VST and I were never happier than in the midst of a project. The bigger the better.

Could I have hired a maid? Of course. Would I have missed this Goodbye? Not on your life.

Just a note…….Today, at 10:30 am, not 11:15 am as his death certificate states, is the 7th Month since VST left. Seven balloons today, released into a winter wonderland, as it snowed last night. The first snow of the season. Everything looks new and magical under starlit skies. It seems it was seven decades ago one minute, and seven minutes ago the next. Smile on the snow, Dr. H, I have the shovel. I’ve got this.

Fall cleaning is in full swing here, a tedious and time consuming job that takes attention to the smallest details. I don’t know how one person can dirty up 1907 sq. ft., but I have managed to do just that. When I landed here April 23rd, the house was extremely clean, and I was extremely spent. Things were moved in without the attention I should have given them. I’m making up for that now.

The movers worked all day and late into the night of April 26th, delivering the second load from DUNMOVIN just before midnight. T and K had worked all weekend to put the garage together, and with the heavy furniture in place, Winterpast was looking oddly like home. There was one last task to handle. One I was dreading.

DunMovin needed to be cleaned. This would be my time to say Goodbye to a wonderful place full of so many memories. I wasn’t sure how it would be to enter the empty cavern, or what ghosts awaited me, but, it had to be done. And for me, it would be part of my healing. Seventeen days a widow, I arrived with bucket, mop, vacuum and supplies ready to tackle the job.

DUNMOVIN was a mansion. When VST started looking for houses, it was our intention to downsize from 2500 sq. ft. Planning to travel and use our time for other things, our sights were not set on the 3300 sq. ft., 6 bedroom, 5 bathroom, two story beauty we found, or rather, VC presented to us. She was meant to be ours from Hello. Over 6 years, VST and I transformed her, but, then, you already know that part.

Late Monday morning, I arrived for one of my last visits, ready to rock and roll. I didn’t factor in time for crying the ugly cry. Each surface that I cleaned held our dust. Our fingerprints. The walls had cradled our laughter and arguments. The ghosts were howling loudly that day, as I tackled each room. Torturous doesn’t even touch the surface. Draining, emotionally and physically, like ripping flesh from my body, each swipe with a dust rag left me spent.

I started with the room I thought would be the least traumatic. The upstairs guest room. Not surprisingly, it was one of the rooms that needed less attention, but the windows look out upon the “V” on the side of Mt. Davidson. My tearful cleaning spree commenced.

Then the hard part began. The kitchen. Designed, demolished, and installed by the two of us. The floor was of real oak hardwood that was created as we lovingly picked the order in which each board was nailed. The room was huge, being 33 ft. across and quite deep. VST spent weeks installing the floor that made the place a showpiece, one board at a time, while analyzing his own life. The walk-in pantry held winter provisions when the snow was too deep to get off the mountain during snow-mageddon.

33 windows needed to be cleaned. 33 windowsils. Blinds needed dusting. Baseboards were lovingly washed. Doorhandles and doors gave up their grunge. VST’s blue office was dust free when I finished, the paint referred to as “Old Man Blue”, being a shade too bright for my liking. His bathroom glistened.

The guest bathroom/laundry room that VST had remodeled starting on January 1st was scoured. This was one of the last beautiful pieces of handiwork left as a testiment to his perfectionism. Four hours later, I came to the hardest rooms yet. Our bedroom, closet, and master bathroom. I believed by that time, all my tears had been spent. But, no. The room slayed me as I lay on the carpet and wept into the emptiness. This was the room in which we said our final Goodbye. And now, it was taking one more Goodbye from me.

The closet, with it’s chandelier, was first. I had seen a show on HGTV in which two women installed a chandelier in the closet of an old farmhouse. It was adorable, and I announced to VST that I needed a chandelier in my closet. It was quickly installed, and became a talking point when showing the house. How frivolous and fun. How VST. The lady wants a chandelier in the closet, she gets one.

The bathroom was something out of a magazine, featuring a chromotherapy tub. I didn’t know this was a thing. I guess so, but not for me. I only tried this feature once. It involved flashing lights in different colors. I think it could cause epilepsy, myself. The jetted tub was soaking deep, with a drying cycle. I never understood whether the cycle was to dry the bather or the tub itself.

I thought of VST installing the rich, dark wooden cabinets himself, measuring everything so carefully. And then, I thought of the terminally ill VST I helped shower just weeks before, and the crying commenced again.

CRYCLEANCRYWIPECRYSPRAYCRYCLEANCRYWIPECRYSPRAYCRYCLEANCRYWIPE

Finally the Master bedroom was left, at hour six. This would complete only the upstairs. I was too old for this.

No longer crying, I felt his presence in this beautiful room. Four windows, carefully placed, showed VC as a painting looking out from the side of our mountain. Suspended in air, it was as if we lived on a third plane. Sugarloaf Mountain looked back at me in stunned disbelief that I wouldn’t be greeting her every morning anymore. How many days I had opened the door leading to the deck to hear the church chimes from St. Mary’s on the Mountain, or listen to the forlorn whistle from the steam train. In the spring, the children from the Jr. High giggled, their laughter coming in on the breezes that blew freely in VC. Cheers from the baseball diamond just past the park. The drama of a life flight helicopter landing right within view. Tourists driving turtle-slow to take in the beauty of our houses on A Street. All the memories flooded through my head as I swept lonely cobwebs and vacuumed one last time.

But, the worst of all, was the memory of April 1, when, only one week before he died, VST asked the Hospice worker to place his hospital bed by the window, so that he could see VC any time he opened his eyes. I remember coming into the room, and VST wanted to sit up. There were metal curtain stays on either side of the window to hold back the drapes during the day. He grabbed one to pull himself up.

“Hey, don’t pull on that. It might break,” I scolded him.

“Don’t worry. It won’t. I installed it myself.” He grinned at me. Of course, he was right. Nothing VST every built or installed would ever break. Period.

The last bit of cleaning done, I went to close each blind. I closed doors, telling each room “Thank You” and “Farewell”. At hour 8, way past my dinner time, I headed home, an hour’s drive East. The last few tears were leaking when the phone rang. Dead tired, I answered.

“Joy, is the house done?” It was my beloved realtor. Bless his heart. I think I said something that wasn’t very lady-like or nice. I had to hang up with his next remark, because there were no words.

“Couldn’t you hire a maid?”

Every day, my routine is the same. After tending to my coffee needs and Oliver’s breakfast, I read my email for a few minutes. This morning, the darkness was extreme, when I found a short podcast from William Defoore at “Goodfinding.com, CREATING HAPPINESS ON PURPOSE”. Is that the best life goal ever??? I think yes. The following are thoughts I collected while listening to this uplifting podcast.

Gratitude, appreciation and optimism are connected but they are not the same at all. We are grateful for things that have already happened, we appreciate things that are happening now, and we strive to be optimistic for the future. We can easily get stuck in the past. I spend my fair share there with VST, and all the things gone so long ago. I can also get a little freaked about the future, as I have shared in my writings about the upcoming Darkest of Winters. The only thing I really have the slightest control over is my dealings in the present. And for that, I strive to find the best thoughts to keep my mind the healthiest it can be in this year of healing.

Yesterday, I ended the blog by suggesting that you start thinking of things you are grateful for. Mr. Defoore suggested journaling them. I love journals and being a writer, have so many. For years, they stacked up, as VST and I ran around doing all the things we did. Sadly, I would love to read journals from those happy days, but, they remained blank. Now, every day, all day long, I reach for my journal, writing when I need, too. Reading entries from early April, I realize how far my journey has taken me through widowhood toward womanhood.

When journaling, a sentence fragment counts. You don’t need to worry about penmanship, grammar, spelling, or punctuation. It needs to be readable to you, and you alone.

So, start that journal with three things you’re grateful for in the past. We all can think of three things. If you absolutely can’t come up with anything, use my “New Widow” words. Family. Friends. Pets. Now, throw in Food. Shelter. Clothing. If you are truly blessed, add HEALTH. And from there, you are off and running. Don’t stop at three. You may list things for pages. We are so lucky in life, each one of us. Find those things that are personal to you. Write them down.

Next, for today, find one thing you appreciate. If it involves another person, tell them. For goodness’ sake, if you have no one else, tell an associate at Walmart that you appreciate their work. We should all do that, because THEY work long days so WE can buy stuff we need or want. Find the littlest thing, and make it big enough to say “Thank you”. Smile when you do this. If you don’t think a smile is possible, fake one.

Finally, before you go to sleep tonight, make the very last thought you have an optimistic one for the morning, even if it is the following. “I am looking forward to opening my eyes tomorrow morning”. I bet you have something a little better than that.

These three activities must be practiced every day. Give this a full three weeks, according to Mr. Defoore. When a dark thought comes about past, present, or future, reboot your brain. Change the thought to a pearl instead of a rock. Make this your life choice.

Long ago, I went through a horrendous divorce. Black, black days, with two little boys that needed constant attention to thrive. I found this method, but, didn’t recognize it as anything but a way to survive.

First, I saved my grief for 30 minutes from 10 pm-10:30 pm. I held it together the rest of the time out of necessity. But, during those 30 minutes, I could play all the “broken heart”music I chose. I could cry, quietly, so as not to wake them. Just anything that I needed to do, I did. The beauty was, after a few weeks of this, I found that many times, I was too tired to stay up until 10, and it wasn’t as necessary. And slowly, I got better.

I also made the observation that no matter how bad things were, the wallpaper in my kitchen would still be there to greet me in the morning. It was one little way of assuring myself that the world was still rock solid. My experiences had got me a little off balance, but, the world would be the same when I got through the bad time.

And, I kept one dream at a time alive at all times.

There you have it. Journaling. Gratitude. Appreciation. Optimism. Big lofty words that start with determination and one foot in front of the other. They will guide you through this wilderness, or any other in which you find yourself. Winter is upon us. The wind is howling outside. I appreciate God’s beauty in this season knocking at my door. God’s natural music, the wind plays just for me. I need to go make a pot of soup and enjoy the beauty of the next season.

If you every find you want to contact me, please do at Gg202071548@gmail.com. Sadly, I found a new way never to forget an email address. The year of your spouses passing, their birthday, and the date of their death. Done. Seared into your brain and totally personal. Another helpful tip from the Grieving Gardener.

A year of firsts. Widowhood is that if nothing else. Some things are done for the first time. Some things are done for the first time alone. First time to contemplate a life before widowhood. First time to see things from an opposing point of view when it is too late for apologies. First time to understand the true beauty of being with your soulmate. First time to grasp the tragedy of losing that. A lot of firsts to digest.

I awoke this morning to an odd combination of weather alerts. A Fire Winter Storm Watch for Lake Tahoe. In my little town, 68 miles away, a Fire Weather Warning. Such great news to receive before coffee. I had planned to go to Tahoe once more before the winter snows begin, with reservations for Monday-Wednesday next, my last visit being relaxing and fun. Oliver has reservations for his Doggie Sleep Over Extravaganza. But, navigating snow is not something I feel like dealing with, so my plans may need to change.

I have already written about my first experience 4-wheeling in the snow last spring. I have yet to experience driving in the snow and ice alone. I am sure that will be a post all of its own. On yesterday’s daily walk, a neighbor was out shoveling horse poop. Folks that is the cold, hard truth of living with mustangs. They poop. A lot. If not cleaned up immediately, more mustangs come and poop on top of original poop. It is not romantic, wonderful, or convenient. You need a flat shovel at the ready. You get the idea.

The neighbor informed me that the snow isn’t a big deal here, which I had already researched. In his six years here, there has only been one time that the storm dropped 5″. He had purchased a snow plow for his lawn tractor and has used it one time, and that was because he had just bought it and wanted to. So, as far as being snowed in for days, which was the case in VC, I plan to have hot chocolate and enjoy every flake. That will be a good first, as poor VST would just about worry the snow right out of the sky.

On the 12th, I am going to my First meeting of the Veterans Coalition here in town. To say I am excited is an understatement. I plan to help in any way I can, being that NEW volunteer that so many groups long for. This group has raised money for 8,000+ wreaths for the cemetery here in town ($10 each, not bad for a little volunteer group). December 19th, one wreath will lovingly be placed on every grave. The group also helps with funerals of fallen heroes at the cemetery and I’m going to sign up to help with as many of those as I can. One first discovered, is that I have way too much time on my hands with nothing to fill it. This is just what I need.

A First illness is under control thanks to Tele-Doc-On-The-Screen and Valtrex. Just as she said, it appears meds were started so early, a nasty outbreak may not happen. I am fully aware an illness it is, using the next week to rest and nap. Thank goodness Valtrex works for me.

For the First time, I am fall cleaning and decorating for Christmas alone. Last year, VST was really into it. He even purchased his own special office decorations that I am excited to hang this year. He was jolly and enjoying every minute, until I came up with a cold which I promptly shared with him. It was a sweet, even if sniffly, last Christmas together in our winter wonderland. No gift exchange. No big meal. Just two old people making sure they had everything needed to mend. We had been invited to an A Street gathering, but he sweetly asked if we could celebrate romantically, just the two of us. I will never forget his sweet request, a bittersweet First. This will be the First time I need to give myself holiday memories all my own.

Make a list of your own Firsts. You will be amazed at how many you have already accomplished. Be sure you prepare for difficult holiday Firsts and plan how to make them your own, while honoring the thoughts of all the wonderful holidays past.

Yesterday began as a hopeful election day. It ended late into the night, the darkness of winter a stark reality. Hopeful. Optimistic. Upbeat. Positive. All these traits naturally hang around me like colorful flags waving in the breeze of my life. Not much breeze or flag flying this morning. Read on.

Doctors are not part of my routine. Anyone who knows me knows I have little interest in hanging out in a doctor’s office complaining, to whom ever will listen, about my lumbago, (of which I don’t suffer). If I break a bone, I will go to urgent care and get it set. Otherwise, I’m not interested wasting time listening to someone’s educated opinion about all the things that may or may not BE wrong or GO wrong with MY body. I am in tune with my daily aches and pains, and will accept the outcome of MY decision on this. It is non-negotiable. With that being said, one would be correct in deducing that I do not take medications or vaccinations. I fully embrace the fact that my life may be shortened or extended due to this, my own personal decision.

I have self quarantined like the rest of the world, and during my grief, this has given me privacy to do all the things grieving widows do. Yesterday, I found the following quote by Franz Wright from his book “Walking to Martha’s Vineyard”.

“Death doesn’t prevent me from loving you… Besides, In my opinion, you aren’t dead. (I know dead people, and you are not dead).” VST understands this logic completely.

Yesterday, a dear girlfriend and I decided to share lunch on election day. It had started out that we would share an evening election party, but, after thinking about a very long drive on the Loneliest Highway in America, we decided against it. Two babes jetting out into the night in a White Jeep Wrangler along such a deserted highway would be asking for trouble. Include the fact that black horses crossing a highway on a blacker night spells instant death, and a lunch date seemed far more appropriate. Over spaghetti and garlic bread we remembered our dear husbands, who were dear friends with each other. Miss Firecracker (FC) is a more recent widow than I, and we had lots to share about our guys.

When I got home, I felt an electrical sunburn-ish feeling on my right cheek in a localized area near my eye . Hmmmmm. It was uncomfortable and not something I could just ignore. It then hit me. My aversion to doctors had left me without an office to call. This situation very well escalate to the level of a broken bone quickly. At 2:00 pm, I had little time to sit around and wonder just “What? Oh what?” the problem could be.

I sprang into action, not waiting another minute. I did have an educated idea about what this could be. SHINGLES. This topic had been discussed with two different girlfriends in the past few days, and now, their voices rang clear. “If it happens to you, DON’T wait.” At this point my skin looked normal. Nothing to see there. But, the underlying pain was not anything to mess with.

My newly acquired health card, issued as I await my 65th birthday, was in my wallet. Luckily, my plan has a feature for Tele-Docs. I quickly downloaded the app and phoned in. In less than two hours, I had spoken to a lovely physician of my choosing, had an anti-viral prescription phoned to the local pharmacy, driven to retrieve medication, stopped and picked up a Subway sandwich, consumed dinner, and taken my first pill. 1,000 mg., 3x a day for 7 days. By taking this medication, according to the doctor, if I was LUCKY, I might not get any blisters at all.

Lucky?????????? In 2020??????? Lucky would mean VST would still be here. Lucky would mean we would be yelling at election results together, and mourning the loss of so many beautiful things about our country that are vanishing as I write this. Lucky would mean that my face doesn’t feel like it is on fire, with a dose of electricity running through it. Lucky doesn’t seem to be hanging around my door too often these days.

Wait. That thinking needed change immediately. I rebooted my brain.

I am thankful for the beautiful physician that confirmed what I already knew. I am thankful that I have the resources and awareness to get on medication before this gets worse. I am thankful that I am a healthy woman with common ailment, quite treatable. I am thankful I have great friends that gave me a head’s up. I am thankful for my new Cuisanart Ice Cream maker, because, everything is better with ice cream on the side. I am thankful Sweet Mr. Mud Duck’s phone call was patient and supportive, assuring me that I would feel better with medication. I am thankful for our sweet kids’ election texts, from kids that are really not kids but adults. I am thankful that God doesn’t give me more than I can handle.

Miracle of miracles, I am the luckiest woman in the world flying the flag of hopeful optimism again, even if the breeze barely blows right now.

Gratitude. Embrace it today. These are the scariest of times. Be Grateful for the beauty of your moments.

For those of you that have a dog, you already know. One big expense in your budget is your furry friend, especially if you are a widow. Oliver is my link between the W’s. Wife. Widow. Woman. If you are not a pet owner, please indulge me, and try to understand, although, to NPO’s , it must seem that we PO’s have lost our minds.

My discount puppy was quite possibly the most wonderful Christmas present VST ever gave in his life. Although Oliver wasn’t a present, because you cannot make a present of perfect and pure love and friendship, Oliver was delivered into my arms in a snowy parking lot at the Atlantic Casino in the middle of an intense snow storm on Christmas morning 2018. That, in and of itself, spoke to VST’s determination to fill my arms with this little ball of fluff. He drove us carefully off the mountain in a blizzard. We both noted that at 4 months, Oliver wasn’t very small. Abominable Snowman Feet. Not Dachshund-ish at all. Not in any way except the stubborn one. Oliver was a unique and special puppy.

It wasn’t many hours before VST was the one asking if Oliver had enough toys. During the following days, VST selected the station that held Oliver’s favorite music, left on when we went on errands. It was VST who set the surveillance camera at the right angle to watch him as we had lunch at our favorite restaurant, making sure it was the camera that had speaking options to calm Oliver if he was scared. VST made sure Oliver had the best bed. The comfiest blankets. Throughout their time together, the best walks.

So, in my “Wife Life”, Oliver became a link we didn’t even know we needed. We BOTH doted on this dog. He drove us both nuts. Potty training was a joint effort. We became a little triangle of a family, exchanging love at every angle. Oliver was trained to the rig, and a Rig Dog he became. He was faster than I at gas guzzling pitstops with his bathroom breaks. Clean Pee Pad and a closed door were his only requirements. Oliver loved the beach as much as our own living room.

If you are considering a pet, start saving now, because having one can be quite expensive. It depends on your willingness and need to find ways to spend money on them. Most things are NOT necessary. Your pet will never know they are deprived unless you tell them, unless you deprive them of their meals and love. The rest is gravy. Oliver gets lots of gravy.

Yesterday’s vet appointment is a perfect example. I could take Oliver to the local Humane society on Thursday. There, they give shots for a nominal fee. A vet is present and will answer questions. The documents are proof and you are good to go. I could do that. There is one very close to the vet we visited. Many people also leave their dogs home when they travel, paying the neighborhood kid $ a day to feed and play with the pooch. I have two neighborhood kids that would happily oblige.

When needed, Oliver goes to Doggie Day Camp in Carson City. His Doggie Hotel is more than an hour from here. I justify this because the kennel is as clean as my house. The guests are quiet and content. It is not a jail, but a respite from owners that can be quite annoying. I know Oliver will be safe and happy when I pick him up, hence I don’t worry when he is there and I am elsewhere. There is one more reason. Oliver’s vet is in the same building. So, if there WERE a problem, they would contact me immediately and provide necessary care. To me, this is a huge comfort, even though Oliver is 2 years old, healthy, and won’t be getting sick any time soon. Just in case, I choose this place, because, in 2020, I have had to use up my “Just In Case’s” on many unexpected horrors.

Due to Covid, the vet experience in Nevada is as follows. You drive up and phone the vet’s office. They answer and ask you the patient’s name and a car description. A tech comes to your car at the appointment time, asking many questions about Covid and your possible contamination. They take the dog. You wait in the car. When the appointment is done, you have the option of Face Timing with the Vet through an iPad a tech will bring to you. The exam is discussed.

Results of Oliver’s exam.

1. He is overweight. Now, he devours 1/3 cup of food 2x a day. Then, he eats his daily 5 calorie treats, fallen apples, my solar pathway lights, any bones laying around, his disposable water dishes, blankets, envelopes that might have fallen on the ground, and dust bunnies for dessert. He is better than a vacuum. What will happen when I cut down the portion to 1/4 cup, which is about 10 pieces of kibble? I bet I will look pretty darn enticing to the little dog. No can do. Oliver has lost 2 pounds to have a current weight of 23 pounds. He is not losing anymore.

2. Oliver growled at the vet as she was staring into his eyes with a bright, blinding, irritating, nasty exam light. I don’t blame him. I say this as a retired teacher with disrespect intended. REALLY????? This would be like me finding a parent in the parking lot to tell them their child growled at me with attitude four hours earlier in the classroom. Deal with it, Ms. Vet. That is why you get the big bucks. Did he bite you????????? She blabbed on at how Oliver’s eyes were exactly the same color of green as her dog’s eyes, except her dog weighs 100 pounds. Hey, Ms. Vet. Diet? I suggest you put that chubs on a diet. Growl on puppy.

So, after all the driving and waiting, I get the bill before I get Oliver back. $70 for a healthy dog exam, the actual vaccination fee of $17.85, included. Go figure.

Bottom line. Oliver has been a bridge from Wife to Widow to Woman. As a widow during the last seven months, he has been my constant companion and tear mitigator. He is my blog editor. He makes me laugh when it seems I have forgotten how, and he snuggles and listens to my deepest secrets, which he will never share with anyone unless, of course, I cut his food to 1/4 cup twice a day. We shook on that deal. Whatever he needs, I will provide until our days on Earth together finish.

If you have a pet, go out today and get them something unexpected. It will be great for you both. Dollar store has a great selection of all kinds of goodies, and of course, the sky is the limit from there. Spend time outside, but watch the solar path lights. They can slowly disappear. I have now found they are a three step adventure. The top providing yummy wires. The supporting tube full of squishy deliciousness. Then, for a little digging fun, the yummy stake.

Oliver. VST, you fill my heart, still, through the best gift ever given. Sending love your way, VST. Your Darlin, Mrs. H

Daylight savings arrived like an abrupt door closing in my face. I wasn’t expecting it to affect me this much. The sunset was at 4:54 pm yesterday. Oliver was wondering why his dinner was one hour later. The total darkness after the blue moon of Halloween was startling. This isn’t what I have experienced in winters past.

VST and I had a running debate for all the years we were married. He was a spring summer person, enjoying the fast pace the ranch and life demanded. He loved preparing for harvest from bud break until leaf fall. His skin turned the most beautiful caramel color, and he lived for shorts and tees after working in shirt and tie all day. Even on the hottest of Fresno summer days, his smile said it all. He was summer’s boy.

I, on the other hand, waited for the time to change back, giving me one more hour of precious sleep on that first day of change. I loved having dinner ready as night fell. I felt the silence of the vineyard, grabbing a few days of peace between the last crop and preparations for the next. The greedy vines could sit for just a moment while they went to sleep for the winter. There were a few weeks when they were not demanding all our attention. Winter held more vacation days, letting me nest in my red and green home, while wrapping up in my favorite sweaters and Uggs..

Once we retired, winter was a time we would flee in the RV. A run to Cayucos. Walks on the beach. Visits with my God Mother, TJ, and her friends in Cambria. Delicious Thanksgiving Dinner home cooked with A Street Friends in VC. Christmas. New Years. All with VST and I planning where the rig would take us next. Sitting at Bubba Gumps overlooking the Colorado River in Laughlin? Or walking along the cliffs observing the varying antics of the elephant seals near San Simeon. We always had something chosen to avoid the winter snows of VC. Something warm and sunny. I guess in doing so, I never was hit with darkness at 4:54. For if I was, it was in warm surroundings with the man I loved.

Now, the house has a different feel. Last night, I couldn’t get the lighting bright enough. The shows on TV were not for someone who has working brain. Oliver went into his nighttime surrender to deep sleep, sensing it was 6:30 instead of 5:30. I was too bothered by the extreme dark to even begin to think of sleep. Strange, because the dark has never bothered me before now.

I often laughed at old people that went to sleep with the sun. I’m understanding their rationale more today. For, in dreams, one can still travel to sunny, bright, warm places. Strolling along Waikiki beach, the tradewinds still blow over brilliant seas. In dreams, I can be anything but the old widow I find myself today, bundled in sweats and waiting for the morning sunshine to arrive.

This new dilemma will give me challenges to overcome, but, they are not insurmountable. Crafts, DYI Projects, and new books await. There are plenty of things to do to fill up the night other than sleeping. I will discover new hobbies and find beauty in the night.

I just wasn’t ready for No Color, No Contrast, on this blackest of mornings awaiting sunrise.

Please indulge me with a horrifying bit of humor for the mind. Although Halloween was yesterday, as I write, we are technically still in Halloween night. The sun has yet to rise here in the Northwestern Nevadan Desert. Things are still creepy and eery outside. The perfect setting for the story of ……………. The Rat.

It was just a year ago. VST and I had made a trip to the Central Coast in the rig. He was already acting a bit different, and I really personalized all the reasons that could be. We never expected there was a physical reason for the changes we both felt. I worried that we had entered a “30+ year curse” in which so many couples of our age found themselves. VST was clammy quiet, but worried about everything.

VST’s favorite gadget was his Garmin navigation tools, having one in each vehicle. He would punch in every waypoint we intended on visiting, and home, as well. I sat in silent, hateful judgement of wires. I despise unsightly wires. He would drape them like party streamers, until I finally just kept my disgust to myself. Behind his desk were balls of wires, all intertwined and covered with dust. They ran under his desk, between the television command center, and sometimes, right through the room.

On the dash of the RV, wires ran for the Blue Ox Braking system to the Jeep, following behind us. The satellite radio system had its own set of very long wires bringing us Willie’s Road House. Even the hand’s free phone system in the RV had wires. The Garmin completed this spaghetti-fied mess. I did my best to wrap and separate them until I decided I needed to contemplate why they bothered me so much. Probably a deeper psychological problem best left for another day.

When we arrived at our favorite coastal RV park the next day , we discovered that we had finally been awarded SPOT 1. Now, let me explain. SPOT 1 is the premium spot of the entire park. You are welcome to Google “Bella Vista by the Sea, Cayucos, Ca”. SPOT 1 is at the front of the park, with only a road and empty lot separating the camper from the entire magnificent view of the Pacific Ocean. SPOT 1 is the desire of all the other spots at this RV Park. It is randomly awarded based on empty status and your arrival date and time. We finally, after three years, hit it right. SPOT 1.

I happily set up shop, while VST worked on hoses for water, and other things. More cords were inserted from plug to rig. Our satellite dish brought us Larame, Gunsmoke, Bonanza, and Channel 2 news from home. I set out hamburger to defrost, and in under an hour, we were living in SPOT 1. VST was still a ball of nerves after the long drive and offered to take Oliver for a walk on the pier. Ollie never turned down a walk, and off they went. VST with his braces, cowboy hat, and cane, and one very happy little dog. I can see them now on their jaunty way. Jaunty–expressing a lively, cheerful, self-confident manner. Boy does that word fit. I always smiled when I saw them head for the pier, which was right outside our window. Did I mention we were in SPOT 1?????????

That evening, VST started worrying in earnest. There was a storm on the horizon. A bad one. The first of the season. Although Cayucos was unbothered, the Eastern Sierras and Northwestern Nevada would be hit hard. High winds. Snow. We could be trapped like the Donner Party. The storm was predicted for the day after our plans would take us home. THE DAY AFTER!!!! Nestled into SPOT 1, it was a restless night of tossing and turning.

May I interject. VST and I had an ongoing difference about living in the moment. No matter how he tried, and try he did, VST could not enjoy the peaceful nature of an “in the moment” experience. He was always “HOPING FOR THE FUTURE AND WORRYING ABOUT THE PAST”, in Joni’s words. This could be so frustrating when driving through miles on U.S Route 395, through some of the most beautiful scenery in the entire US with antlered elk grazing along the road. VST would be mind-locked in worries about weather two weeks away.

On our first beach morning, breakfast was lacking energy. It was as if the miracle of SPOT 1 had an energy drain to it. The day was full of distractions and more weather talk. I was finding the trip tedious and stress producing, so I turned to my novel and the sunshine on the entire lawn we enjoyed because we had been given SPOT 1. Other campers would walk by with looks of disgust, thinking we had purchased our way into heaven. A couple actually stopped to ask how they could reserve such a spot. VST just worked Weather Bug with a worried face, noting the the predictions for the storm had been moved up. The storm would begin in 32 hours.

Moving the rig from VC to Cayucos and back involved four days, two going, two coming, and 1,200 miles of gas and money. It involved going over Tehachapi and Montgomery passes. It involved at least two RV parks, and lots of patience. It also involved 20 hours of driving on VST’s part. My point being, going to Cayucos was a commitment we liked to make for 10 days. Otherwise, the trip was just to involved.

The next morning, as soon as I opened my eyes, VST was looking into them.

“Honey, we need to leave tomorrow morning. As early as possible. The storm is huge.”

“Okay.” It was all that I could come up with at that moment.

When preparing to leave, I like to have a few hours ahead to slowly repack the rig and savour the memories made. So, Oliver and VST left for their walk and I started to bag laundry, and do a bit of cleaning to make negative energy productive. They returned sooner than I had expected.

“Honey, if we’re leaving tomorrow, can we leave today at noon?”

There were just no words. Use your imagination at my frustration and his hopefulness all rolled into one at this very moment.

I am a creature of habit, majorly OCD about some things. The rig was ready to go in no time, without my little routines included. With my irritation and his desire to get on the road, it actually went rather quickly. We were driving down the road to home around noon. On Hwy. 46, to Hwy. 41, to the road to Wasco, towards Bakersfield and beyond. I was looking at my phone. No longer in the moment, I was trying to divert angry steam to some sort of useful energy. Possible new Keto recipes? Christmas decorating tips? New emails?

When.

I.

Saw.

It.

THE. RAT.

YES. A FULL SIZED NORWEGIAN ROOF RAT.

SITTING ON OUR BEAUTIFUL DASH. WITH BLOOD COMING FROM THE NOSE.

STARING AT ME. IN THE EYES.

Horrified, I turned to see VST had seen it at exactly the same time I had. He was now looking just as horrified. My first thought was of his cat-like reflexes. He could jump to grab it, thereby causing our rig to roll out of control and wreck. We were both frozen and fixated on this creature from hell. Still traveling at 55 mph+, VST didn’t move, but pulled off at the service station found at the next intersection, driving us to the back of the lot. The rat didn’t move. Like a laser through my skull, his beady little eyes never let his gaze drift from mine. It just sat there staring at me.

“What do you have to remove it?” VST quietly asked, still clutching the steering wheel.

I found the following. A pan lid and a wooden spoon. He could slide the rodent onto the lid and whisk it out of the rig. VST could do this. He was the man of the moment and capable of such acts of heroism.

The door opened, with a swish, whisk, whoosh, and “OH #$$%^^^$$”, he missed. The rat didn’t. And was now hiding under my seat. The terror increased.

VST didn’t waver in his resolve.

“Don’t worry, Darlin. We’re going to WalMart for supplies.” And off we went.

Our trip to WalMart was straight from Comedy Central. Of course, no one there could have known the problem we were desperate to fix. We bought the following. Large, long cuffed, impenetrable, fireproof, leather gloves intended for cleaning out fireplace ashes. BBQ tongs of the extended variety, shiny spikes for grabbing meat on the ends. An exceptionally large rat trap. A smaller glue filled variety, which caused much debate about the cruelty of being stuck in glue, versus having your neck snapped instantly. One mirror on a stick, created for looking under automobiles. And, a bag of peanut M & M’s. Because, every one of our endeavors went better when we shared a bag of peanut M & M’s.

We went with purpose across the vast parking lot. Both deeply entrenched in the moment. Our ROCKY moment. Our moment of victory against a lowly rat. Our moment of complete partnership towards one end goal. Elimination of the rat in the most efficient and humane way possible.

Upon entering the rig, the silence was deafening. Oliver did not make a whimper. Nor did he ever “RAT OUT” the intruder through its entire tenure in our rolling home. We would speak about this, he and I, after the resolution of the problem at hand.

My seat was checked with the extended mirror. NO RAT. (NR)

The couch was checked. NR. Under the table. NR. Behind the Bed. NR. Under the Bed. NR. Under the frig. NR.

The last place it could be was in the bathroom. Slowly, gently, quietly, we stood. Tongs in one gloved hand. VST crouched. Ready to attack. I slowly opened the door. Ever. So. Slowly……….. And……… Then ……… I …………… Saw……… It………. And………..

SSSSSSSCCCCCCRRREEEEEEAAAAAAAMMMMMEEED.

VST SWOOPPEDGRABBEDRANANDFLUNGTHESQUEALINGRATOUTOFTHERIG.

A more perfectly executed athletic manuever I have never witnessed in my life. We embraced, nearly in tears. The threat had been eliminated and we needed to get out of dodge. We were in California. There could be a RAT RESCUE group and we could be arrested for WHATEVER. It is California, folks.

The trip home was less tense. VST was definitely in the moment after that. The tension and anger of the earlier morning was gone as we relived the moment in laughter. For the tiniest time, the present outweighed the coming storm. It was one of our funniest and finest moments, never knowing it was next to the last time I would be his wingman on some fantastical journey taken by us. VST, are forever my hero. A shrine is almost finished in the garage to honor the day you took HERO to an entirely new level.

My widow weight loss has been negated. I find comfort in food. Period. Especially Carbs. Can you relate here?

The days after VST died were a blur. Although no casseroles arrived at my door, the first thing that did was an amazing lemon cake. Moist and heavenly, adorned with a beautiful stenciled design out of powdered sugar. Of course, this was from our dear friends who were just retired from years at the restaurant in town. Just the perfect amount of flour, sugar, sweetness, and tart. It went beautifully with a side of tears.

Cafe del Rio in VC really kept me alive for my last days there. Due to Covid, they were only open for dinner Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Those days, at 4:05, I would drive down to retrieve my dunch. Dinner-next day’s lunch. I am a huge fan of their Steak Tacos. You will not be disappointed. And better yet, the Gospel Fried Chicken. MMD is now a convert. The secret recipe is straight from heaven, along with mashed potatoes, the best slaw, and of course, corn steamed and cut right from the cob. Truly a masterpiece.

Although I know I kept the frig full, I really don’t remember much else. For those three days of the week, I had fresh, hot, food. The rest of the time, I made do with whatever. It didn’t matter.

VST and I were always chasing the last 20 pounds. For two years, we were on the Keto Diet, and did so well. VST trimmed off 50 pounds in a flash, me 30. It was the way we enjoyed eating anyway. I made delightful recipes, including cheesecake, tasting just like the real deal. We had lasagna, peanut butter cookies, and ice cream. We lost weight keeping our carbs at a measly 20. Just start looking at nutritional values. Even cold syrup has carbs. Lots of them. It was easy to eliminate most.

I loved my dieting buddy. We would both have cravings on the same day and decide together that it would be okay to stray from our diet. The next day, we would find our resolve and again and get back on. I miss having my partner in dietary decisions.

Once I moved, life was different. I now live in civilization where it is possible to get food delivered to your door. What a concept!!!! I make a call. 20 minutes later, the hottest, freshest pizza arrives!!!!! Subway is just down the street. Chinese food? Ready in ten minutes with a phone call. Burgers so juicy they drip all over. The list goes on and on.

I can say, Subway has done the most to sustain my life. One six inch sandwich lasts for lunch and dinner, with a White Chocolate Macadamia Nut Cookie (a nod to the islands, of course), and a bag of Classic Lays on the side. I could exist on that for many weeks, and have. It is so my favorite, that Subway catered the lunch for VST’s memorial. Always fresh and custom, they are my go-to place when I need two quick meals. I mean, JARED did it, right???

Things were going okay. My widow weight was good. I had lost 10 of the 20 pounds I needed to, and was feeling that I might actually “reduce excess poundage without risking overexertion”, (an example in the dictionary for poundage, which I found so perfect in this example). Overexertion is something I try to avoid at all costs, perhaps a topic for future blog.

My downfall showed up in a box from Amazon. Cuisinart Ice Cream and Gelato Maker with a commercial quality compressor-freezer and fully automatic operation. Oh My. In 30 minutes, this whips up the finest homemade ice cream ever. In all honesty, MMD, in one of our early conversations, inspired such a frivolous purchase. Any person in whom I would have the least bit of interest with would need to demonstrate a true love of ice cream. Quite important research.

VST and I shared that love. As newlyweds, VST, more than once, went for emergency hot fudge sundae supplies at midnight, coming home with all the trimmings. When things were just on the brink of falling apart at the ranch, a quick 25 minute drive into town to Baskin-Robbins would make things seem less dismal. The comfort in a cone would renew our resolve to fix our problems and move on. That never changed. Funny thing, we never invested in an ice cream maker. He would have loved this machine.

I discovered, on MMD’s last visit, that my recipe substituting Splenda is, indeed, a very good recipe. Perhaps now, Keto is back in my future. With this new recipe, the carbs will be very low, the fat content very high. Again, VST is smiling for me.

With the ice cream problem fixed, I come to my next big appliance purchase of the month. The Ninja Foodi 5 in 1 Indoor Grill. Not 3 in 1 or 4 in 1. 5 in 1. It Sears. It Sizzles. It Air Fries. It Crisps. It Dehydrates. All with Cyclonic Grilling Technology. It is just flat out amazing. So far, I have grilled steaks and hamburgers, both being delicious. I crisped a frozen quiche and it, too, turned out wonderful. This is now on my favorite appliance list.

Cooking for one is nearly impossible, and definitely not fun. With these two appliances, I am hoping that my diet will expand from 3″ Subway sandwiches 2xdaily, to some more interesting choices that are Keto friendly.

If you are thinking of trying Keto, be sure to consider the following.

1. Splenda substitutes for sugar pretty well in any recipe without too much of an altered taste or texture.
2. Almost every single recipe has a Keto adaptation online. Just google what it is you want to make and look for the substitution.
3. Look for Sugar-Free condiments at the store. There is No-Sugar Added Ketchup, Sugar free BBQ sauce, and even Teriyaki Sauce that are all delicious.
4. Reece’s Sugar Free Peanut Butter Cups are so satisfying. Just remember, the sweetner used has gastric consequences. Just sayin.

My favorite Peanut Butter recipe is the following.

1 cup of any peanut butter, 1 cup Splenda, I egg. Mix. Roll into balls and flatten with a fork. Bake at 350 for 10 minutes. Enjoy. They are also great if you add 1/3 of a cup of Sugar Free Chocolate Chips by Hershey. Yes, they have such a thing in the baking isle.

Comfort foods. We need to find comfort where we can, when we can. Sometimes the extra pounds just need to be there for a bit while we find our way. Heck. Now that I remember the date, the diet can wait until TOMORROW! HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!!