Category: 2020

By Ralph Blane and Hugh Martin

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Let your heart be light

From now on

Our troubles will be out of sight.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Make the Yule-tide gay

From now on

Our troubles will be miles away.

Here we are as in olden days

Happy golden days of yore

Faithful friends who are dear to us

Gather near to us once more

Through the years we all we be together

If the fates allow

Hang a shining star upon the highest bough

And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.

Merry Christmas, everyone. Joy

by Placide Cappeau in 1843, translated by John Sullivan Dwight in 1847

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining

It is the night of our dear Savior’s birth

Long lay the world in sin and error pining

‘Til He appears and the soul felt its worth

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn

Fall on your knees; O hear the Angel voices!

O night devine, O night when Christ was born

O night, O Holy night, O night divine!

Led by the light of Faith serenely beaming

With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand

So led by light of a star sweetly gleaming

Here come the Wise Men from Orient land

The King of kings lay thus in lowly manger

In all our trials born to be our friend

He knows our needs, to our weakness is no stranger

Behold your King; before Him lowly bend

Behold your King; before Him lowly bend

Truly He taught us to love one another;

His law is love and His Gospel is Peace

Chains shall he break, for the slave is our brother

And in His name, all oppression shall cease

Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we

Let all within us Praise His Holy name

Christ is the Lord; O praise His name forever!

His power and glory evermore proclaim

His power and glory evermore proclaim.

Merry Christmas Everyone!! I will be back tomorrow!!!! Have a wonderful day!!!

Joy

My musing for the day is focused on mindfulness and how it has changed my outlook on life. Retirement has its benefits. One of them is allowing the retiree the time to become mindful at an age when the beauty of it is recognized and appreciated. To be mindful, one needs to live in the moment and be aware. There is a time and place for everything. I was certainly not mindful while doing my banking today and projecting my thoughts to Tax Day 2021. But, throughout a normal day, a mindful nature can bring you a relaxed happy heart.

Yesterday was one of those days. I baked Almond Poppy Seed Muffins for the first time in years. I’m a carb addict. I’ll start on Keto again January 2, still many days away. So, yesterday, I baked. Oh My. For me, any kitchen activities are a true test of focusing on the moment. We all know the difficulties of cooking for one, so luckily, my culinary adventures these days are few and far between. “Take Out” or “Eat In” are such lovely options.

As the muffins cooked, I thought of Miss Firecracker, the perfect person with whom to share them. With a phone call and resounding, “YES”, I was off to her home. Miss Firecracker is a friend that feels like the best kind of warm hug. She is witty and delightful, sensitive and thoughtful. She is wise with opinions that are well thought out and shared carefully. She’s a favorite friend with whom to spend time. We talk about everything, from the boring to the racy. It matters not, because there we are sharing away. There’s always laughter involved.

Now, we share widowhood. Strange it was that Bailey’s and Cream and VST weren’t booming their voices on the back patio. Those two admired each other, always having conversations interesting and intense. Both brilliant men, they kept each other on their toes, intimidating each other as they went. But, now, just two chick-a-dees chatter away. We weren’t especially mindful as we visited, looking back to remember our guys, so glad to be with someone that remembered them too.

Later in the day, Webster Girl and I meandered through valleys and peaks of widowhood and our new lives via telephone. We collided one day, long ago and late in a distant century. We were both attending a Weight Watchers meeting. Both elementary teachers, her career was a raging success, mine was in its infancy. At the 6 Am meeting, my noisy school lanyard hung around my neck, heavy with school keys and shiny, metal whistle. Webster Girl caught my attention, and after the meeting, our friendship sparked. With a little wizardry on our parts, my next school year found me teaching with her at a school that grew to be my home, with teachers that grew into a strong sisterhood.

After many years of losing touch, she came back into my life the day after VST had died. A random invitation to a Zoom meeting appeared in my emails from my teaching sisters. Having no idea they were a lifeline to their drowning friend, they were having a Zoom meeting to get everyone together again. Just a random email on my first full day as a widow. Over ten years had passed since I had seen or heard from these buddies, but time stood still at that beautiful Zoom meeting. They were all there, just like we had always been around our lunch table. Webster Girl found me that day, newly lost in the wilderness, and I don’t plan to lose her ever again.

The rest of the day was mindful and lazy. I’m so lucky to have Oliver to fill in the spaces of my otherwise quiet life. He came to live with me two years ago, on the snowiest of Christmases in the parking lot of a casino. His birth family lived two hours west, so it was a good place to meet. I had no way of knowing this little dog would help with mindfulness. Anyone who has raised a very active puppy knows that to be anything less than mindful leads to accidents and damage of one kind or another. Now, he has grown into his big clunky feet and deep soulful eyes. Oliver knows EVERYTHING. He lived through it all. Glad he has no thumbs, or he might start typing his story.

Why would I write about the past in a blog about mindfulness, you might wonder. Because through those chance meetings in random places, I came to be. Mindfulness brings me to the present, with a grateful heart for all the goodness in my life. A collection of beautiful events along the way, be they exhilarating, devastating, or somewhere in between. The beauty is found sitting quietly and smiling at how they helped me choose my path. Mindfulness in the darkest hours of night is the best for me. Without visual stimulation, my mind is free to count every blessing and be grateful for all the people I have in my life. From friends, to family, to experiences that continue to be so rich. I am the luckiest woman. Mindfulness will give you focus through your journey, wherever you roam.

How could you? Oh, Noooo! You Shouldn’t! Not that! Are you crazy?

So many voices I’ve allowed to quiet words I’ve wanted to say over the years. Of my own doing and for a good many years, I gave up my writer’s voice in the name of privacy, decorum, or just to keep the peace. I’m so glad that voice is here and can be silenced no longer. Writing, in spite of judgments personified or of my own personal doing, is helping me heal.

From an early age, I knew, WRITING IS LIFE. In 2016, an astute 5th grader started a term paper with that line. She got an A. Writing IS certainly my life. Throughout my years, words have been there when there was no one else.

Six months of the saddest time in my life occurred in 1977, while living in Tiraspol, Moldavia on a honeymoon disaster. My first marriage involved a job in the USSR, his employ not mine. I went as the lucky Plus One at 21 years of age. I found myself alone, sans translator, 14-16 hours a day, in a place where language was a mystery. Even the alphabet betrayed me, being Cyrillic. Lacking daily conversations with another human being, no English television, no random billboards to read, no words, my mind starved during those months. Exiled and imprisoned, I devoured novels brought from home. Completing one book a day provided a silent stream of words. They painted vivid pictures while I found comfort in the strength from the text as mine waned.

During my marriage to VST, my interests turned to other things. Important things requiring time and patience. Raising Children. Farming through disastrous weather. Injuries. Teaching. Travels. Life just kept coming while I never carved out quiet time for writing. My own self care I neglected for years..

These days, I write throughout the day, every day. Topics and projects are an endless choice. The stories have been waiting patiently for their day to be told in the proper way. Russia. Marriage. Divorce. Children. Farming. Students. The hospital. Angels. The one that got away. The ones pushed away. These tales are lined up, waiting to come to life. And so, I write.

It started with an inspiration from a strange place. Vlad, an old, new friend, found routine in publishing daily, without fail, like clockwork. Publishing daily since 2015, this came first, while other aspects of life remained tattered and in disarray. Topic research, chosen words and a voice came alive daily, without fail. While life was literally flaming around his feet, with computer in hand publishing was priority, every day. So admirable. Just like that, I realized I had the discipline to share my words, as well. With that, September 24 delivered my first post. Through the days that followed, I’ve enjoyed experimenting with thoughts, memories, and writing. I dream of my first book in 2021, as Oliver lounges by my feet, and Winterpast holds us both, warm and secure.

Through months of widowhood, writing has encouraged me to bravely explore a space so dark and sad it had the potential to crush dreams and end hope. A true test of faith, it could have fanned a bitter soul. It could have blinded me from seeing the beauty surrounding me now. My words stopped that from happening. As they vented the truths I lived through, remembering some kinder than they were, fires burst on my computer screen, flared and went out. Like a fantastic controlled burn. Months later, words are healing me still. My super power is writing. For that, there is no kryptonite, except “a weak and a lazy mind”. I assure you, my mind is neither.

If you’ve ever, in your quietest thoughts, mused about writing, buy a journal today. Pencils and pens. And just begin. Writing IS life!

“Things that you held high and told yourself are true,

Lost or changing as the days come down to you.” (Joni Mitchell, Court and Spark)

Life is interesting. If I’ve learned nothing else in 2020, it’s that we are given, each day, a new chance to live our best life. One can fret endlessly about getting everything just right. Like everyone, I do that. Often. The problem seems to be that “just right” for today might end up being “terribly wrong” for tomorrow. With all the planning and hand wringing that results, the moment NOW gets messed up. At least in 2020, my own brave new world.

Until widowhood leaves you totally alone, you can’t comprehend a wilderness vast and overflowing with painful beauty. One “Happy New Year” ago, my present reality was unforeseen. I couldn’t have imagined and written the last year on my best day. Through flames and devastation, my new life now is emerging like tempered steel, wonderful and rich with new friends in my new town. Some parts are missed, as I journey further away from my old life. New house, new routines, new everything, all chosen by me in this different world I’m creating. My old life died April 8th in a horrific and fiery crash. Little of the old survived physically, but everything survived in my heart, left in a heap to sort and ponder.

As I write every day, these hours are a time that I wallow through unopened file cabinets of memories, regrets, wishes, and what-ifs. I discard things no longer true in my life, and refold and keep those things so precious they have been woven into my heart for safe keeping. Through 32 years, it is often hard to separate what was him or me. The us that’s now me kept in cherished memories, I move on to write a new story, mine alone.

It’s a very weird thing to live alone for the first time after 64 years. The most wonderful things can happen when you live by yourself. Everything selected for one, making life easier, but rather lonely. A multitude of options present themselves for my choosing. As days have gone by, there are times when my heart races thinking of the expanse of the universe and my insignificance in it. Dark fright sends tendrils from deep places within, the terror being palpable. Overwhelmed, I breathe deeply and write from the point of view of one little old blogger woman sitting at her computer, while fear is soothed away, and my superwoman spirit again shines through. I will never know the impact of my words on a reader in Moldova or Hungary, or the importance to those sleepless in Seattle, reading me because the night is a scary place to find rest. But the fear-conquering impact they have on me is amazing.

Writing is a release of the real parts of me censored for way too long. If uncomfortable to read, don’t for the day. I’m writing as I heal my heart. I find that if something I write makes me cry, it’s very good medicine. By publishing it, I grow. My readers are listening to a healing heart that got banged up pretty badly this year. Rather like going to visit someone in the hospital that needs a friend while mending, you listen. For this, I can never thank you, my readers, enough.

Will I ever forget VST? Not in a million tomorrows. Not even when the sun sets on my life for the last time. For to forget him would be to lose memories and love spanning 50 years. Anyone who believes that could or should happen just doesn’t understand what we had, and what I lost. Nothing can change the fact that VST died. Away from the horrors of that experience I’m moving further every day, carefully redesigning the life I want for myself now. As for this moment in time, I’ve only myself to consider.

Am I ready to move into a new relationship? That is for my heart and head to agree on. I’m an intelligent, strong, and courageous woman capable of choosing a safe place in which to entrust my heart. No life instructions came to me on April 8th. For guidance, I have found faith in God to be my North Star. With a few pretty special angels up there watching over me, I’m in good counsel, with the ultimate earthly choices being mine alone.

As the new year begins, there’ll be less blogs focused on my loss, and more blogs focusing on discoveries and growth. 2021 is going to be a stellar year because the entire world is hoping, praying, and demanding it to be. We’ll all do our best to find our new normal, as this world keeps spinning and the days carry us on. I’m ready for new pages. VST and I had a wonderful run at life. The next part is mine to write. I’m so ready.

You’ve been a wretched beast. There, I’ve said it. What everyone is saying behind your back. We’re all secretly hoping you’ll fade into the night without any parting shots, because, you were the worst year any of us can remember. Of course, if you were the year of new love or life, then, for that, we thank you. But otherwise, it’s time to slam the door on you, the year of disasters.

Personally, I’ve been surprised at the strengths I’ve found throughout your days. I’ve needed them to contend with the horrible events you held. Everyone would probably agree, Covid was the worst, but I have one more devastatingly personal. You were the year in which I lost VST. For that, I’ll never forgive you. You presented so many challenges for me which would’ve come during any year he died. But it wasn’t any year. It was 2020. The year cancer came knocking.

You were the year Virginia City let me go, while holding VST ransom. Living on the mountain was a private adventure only VST and I would understand. One of deep blue skies and white puffy clouds. One of train whistles and cool, crisp summer nights. Of stars so close you could reach out and touch them. Of migrating seagulls putting on a winged ballet just for me one lazy deck-morning. Of SEVERE blizzards. Announced by clip clopping hooves on A Street, wild mustangs coming to graze under my porch. An escape for two from a California we no longer knew, to the wild west we learned to love. Yes, wild she was, that VC.

You were the year I started to drive again in my “Barbie Jeep”, as VST always called it. The year of getting lost in Reno, and learning my way in Tahoe. You were the year of my own pleasure drives to Bridgeport, Hawthorne, Pahrump, and all the little places in between. You were the year in which I tearfully relinquished title of our RV, “White Knight”, sending it away to find new owners, with wheels rolling off toward Florida, the place WE would have visited next.

I learned that I have choices while guiding my own life. In 2020, I needed to step up and chart my own course while you bucked many of my choices. Through fire and smoke, you robbed people of their homes. Stolen livelihoods were lost through lock-downs and closures. People masked. Business gasped. But through all this, families chose to come closer. We grew stronger during your horrors. We found ways to laugh in your face, the wicked year you were.

With months of forced isolation, healthy choices became a staple in my house. Now, when decisions seem unclear, the question I ask is this. “Is this a healthy choice for me?” It’s helped me make many good choices this year, in spite of those that might’ve been fun or tasted good at the time. The best choice I’ve made so far is to live in happiness, mindful and present. With the New Year so close, this is hard to do. We all want to jump from your clutches into next week. We won’t miss you, not one little bit.

You brought dating into my life. Mr. Mud Duck, though gone, will never be forgotten, after saving my life over dinner and making many days better than he could’ve ever known. MFP has come into my life as a friendly movie date. With that being said, I’m still the only person that knows exactly what kind of date I like best. I’ve found a new appreciation for time spent alone that’s valuable, productive, and entertaining. I comfort my bruised soul while knowing there’re worse things than being single. With angels watching over me, although widowed, I’m never alone. Faith is a wonderful escort.

You held some of the most wonderful Acts of Kindness I’ve ever experienced. Through tragedy, family and friends came to me in ways I would’ve never expected. The love and support shown from total strangers to the closest relatives has been overwhelming. Doctors and nurses showered VST and I with love during his short illness and our shorter Good Bye. Without even knowing us, they made the unthinkable something we got through, even if not the most gracefully. Hospice and the Funeral Director helped me with the worst decisions in my life. During the sale of Dunmovin and the purchase of WINTERPAST, beautiful realtors went beyond anything their job required. All my New-Town friends are chosen family now. For all of you, my heart overflows with gratefulness for your support and love. 2020, you couldn’t rob me of all those wonderful deeds.

On Thursday night, I’ll be celebrating. Totally!!! I’ll wait until Midnight and scream into the star-filled sky. For a moment, there’ll be world wide happiness when you’re gone. Not a tear shed. Racing on to 2021, which will be better than you, if only because it is NOT you.

If I was forced to say nice things about you, I suppose I could think of a few. For the briefest of moments, I’ll cling tightly for one last miserable hug, because you’re the year in which I still had VST before I became a widow. You’re the year in which I learned so many great things about my strengths. You’re the year I embraced my life as an author. Your’re the year in which I met all my new friends in my new town. You’re the year in which WINTERPAST came to me, holding me in my grief. You brought me Ninja Neighbor and Miss Firecracker. You’re the year in which I finally got a lawn on which to play in the leaves. You’re the year I chose happiness over despair. You’re the year of newfound womanhood.

So, 2020, we’ll let you hang around a few hours more. Don’t gloat on the handful of niceties I threw your way. You were a horrible beast. A monster accompanying us on grueling trek through a very dry desert of heartache. You robbed us of almost everything. But. You didn’t take our Faith, Love, Hopes, and Dreams. To those we hold tight. Bye, Felicia. We have better things than you to think about. Hurry 2021, we’re waiting.

Well, here we are. New Year’s Eve morning! A day we’ve been waiting for, as this year keeps knocking us back while we struggle and trudge ahead. It amazes me that when talking to people about this year, almost no one has a glowing report. It’s been a difficult one of tears and loss for so many. I long for something positive when I turn to televised news. As that hasn’t happened in months, I stopped tuning in. Funny thing, I’ve felt better ever since.

For those of you robbed of your loved ones, I send my love and prayers. Disease and death will find us all, although untimely death seems all the more cruel. On this side, I find comfort in accepting that I didn’t cause Cancer to take VST. I didn’t have any way to stop it. I do have the strength to carry on.

April 7th was the blackest of days for me. The inevitable was coming, the hour unknown. A deep sleep had come to VST and evaded me. With thoughts of the other side, I prayed his journey would be swift. Prayers answered, he went home on the 8th. I was left on this side of that huge chasm to figure things out until it’s my turn.

On the other side they wait for us, those that crossed before. A sea of energy and light, radiant happiness and peace. A place with no pain of a sprained ankle or lonely days in Covid isolation. A place that is so inspirational and quieting, I wait patiently and celebrate another year.

On this side of the New Year, I plan to ring out the old with plans for the future. Ideas, new and fresh, spring to my mind. 365 days as a widow will be finished, with memories saved in a new book. Winterpast will flourish with her leafings and blooms, while the bird families come back to build nests in my trees. Next Christmas and New Year’s will be spent cruising under the Golden Gate bridge towards Hawaii, with reservations already in place. Life will jump over midnight tonight into 12:01 tomorrow morning, landing on the other side.

Today is a day I’ll watch our favorite movie, “When Harry Met Sally”. No matter how many times we watched it together, it never got old. It represents us in so many ways. Then, it will be on to “An Affair to Remember”. All while enjoying Chinese food from a restaurant here in town. Oliver and I will probably be asleep way before the stroke of midnight, up to write on the first day of the new year, 2021.

2021. Even the name of the year counts on. Through the loneliest of widow’s wilderness I counted my steps, one after the other, helping me to this spot. We must go on to brighter days, while looking around and realizing the space we are in now is beautiful, all on its own.

Tomorrow, I’ll meet you on the other side. I’ll have more to share. See you then.